
*<> *; 










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ANALYSIS 



THE PRINCIPLES OF 

RHETORICAL DELIVERY, 



AS APPLIED IN 



READING AND SPEAKING. 



BY EBENEZER PORTER, D. D. 

LATE rRESIDENT OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY, ANDOTER j AUTHOR OP THE 

"rhetorical reader," etc. 



Ifcebfaefc antr 3Enlar|je&. 



AUTHOR OF "LATIN LESSONS," AN "ENGLISH GRAMMAR," ETC. 




BOSTON: 

B. B. MUSSEY AND COMPANY, 
1849. 



V 









Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 

B. B. MUSSEY AND COMPANY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



[ STEREOTYPED AT THE 

BOSTOft TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. 






PREFACE 



REVISED EDITION 

Frequent calls for this work have induced the Pub- 
lishers to issue a new and revised edition. 

Few school books have met with more favor, or 
stood better the test of use, than Porter's Analysis; 
and few, if any, it is believed, have been made, on 
the subject of elocution, more philosophical, discrim- 
inating, and practical. 

No changes have been made in this new edition 
which affect the original character and design of the 
work. For convenience in referring to principles and 
directions, the paragraphs have been numbered, and a 
suitable variety of type has been used to distinguish 
such as are most important from the illustrations and 
exercises. A few pages have been omitted in Part I., 
which were not deemed especially important to the 
student. The notation, as applied by Dr. Porter himself, 
and nearly all the marked exercises, have been retained. 
For the exercises of Part II., to which Dr. P.'s rhe- 
torical notation was not applied, new pieces, for the most 
part, have been substituted, and selected in a variety 



IV PREFACE. 

to correspond with the principles of the work before 
illustrated. The selections for this Part have been 
made with much care from writers and orators of the 
highest character, and may serve as exercises, both in 
reading and declamation. 
Boston, October, 1848. 



DIRECTIONS TO TEACHERS. 



To those who may use this book, I have thought it proper to make 
the following preparatory suggestions : — 

1. In a larger number of those who are to be taught reading and 
speaking, the first difficulty to be encountered arises from bad 
habits previously contracted. The most ready way to overcome 
these, is to go directly into the analysis of vocal sounds as they 
occur in conversation. But to change a settled habit, even in 
trifles, often requires perseverance for a long time; of course it is 
not the work of a moment, to transform a heavy, uniform manner 
of delivery, into one that is easy, discriminating, and forcible. 
This is to be accomplished, not by a few irresolute, partial at- 
tempts, but by a steadiness of purpose and of effort, corresponding 
with the importance of the end to be achieved. Nor should it 
seem strange if, in this process of transformation, the subject of it 
should at first appear somewhat artificial and constrained in manner. 
More or less of this inconvenience is unavoidable, in all important 
changes of habit. The young pupil in chirography never can be- 
come an elegant penman, till his bad habit of holding his pen is 
broken up ; though for a time the change may make him write 
worse than before. In respect to Elocution, as well as every other 
art, the case may be in some measure similar. But let the new 
manner become so familiar, as to have in its favor the advantages 
of habit, and the difficulty ceases. 
1 * 



VI DIRECTIONS TO TEACHERS. 

2. The pupil should learn the distinction of inflections, by read- 
ing the familiar examples under one rule, occasionally turning to 
the Exercises, when more examples are necessary ; and the teacher's 
voice should set him right whenever he makes a mistake. In the 
same manner, he should go through all the rules successively. If 
he acquires the habit of giving too great or too little extent to his 
slides of voice, he should be carefully corrected, according to the 
suggestions given in paragraphs 71, 74, 75 ; also, 83 and notes ; also, 
162, 163, and 164. After getting the command of the voice, the 
great point to be steadily kept in view, is to apply the principles 
of emphasis and inflection, just as nature and sentiment demand. 
In respect to those principles of modulation, in which the power 
of delivery so essentially consists, we should always remember, too, 
that, as no theory of the passions can teach a man to be pathetic, 
so no description that can be given of the inflection, emphasis, and 
tones, which accompany emotion, can impart this emotion, or be a 
substitute for it. No adequate description indeed can be given for 
the nameless and ever-varying shades of expression which real 
pathos gives to the voice. Precepts here are only subsidiary helps 
to genius and sensibility. 

3. Previous attention should be given to any example or exer- 
cise, before it is read to the Teacher. At the time of reading, the 
student should generally go through, without interruption; and then 
the Teacher should explain any fault, and correct it by the exam- 
ple of his own voice, requiring the parts to be repeated. It would 
be useful often to inquire why such a modification of voice occurs 
in such a place, and how a change of structure would vary the 
inflection, stress, etc. When the examples are short, as in all the 
former part of the work, reference may easily be made to any sen- 
tence; and in the long examples, the lines are numbered, on the 
left hand of the page, to facilitate the reference, after a passage 
lias been read. 

4. When any portion of the Exercises is committed to memory 
for declamation, it should be perfectly committed before it is spoken; 



DIRECTIONS TO TEACHERS. 7 

as any labor of recollection is certainly fatal to freedom, and variety, 
and force, in speaking. In general, it were well that the same 
piece should be subsequently once or more repeated, with a view to 
adopt the suggestions of the Instructor. The selected pieces are 
short, because, for the purpose of improvement in elocution, a piece 
of four or five minutes is better than one of fifteen. And more 
advance may be made, in managing the voice and countenance, by 
speaking, several times, a short speech, though an old one, like 
that of Brutus on the Death of Csesar, (if it is done with due care 
each time to correct what was amiss,) than in speaking many long 
pieces, however spirited or new, which are but half committed, 
and in the delivery of which all scope of feeling and adaptation 
of manner, are frustrated by labor of memory. The attempt to 
speak with this indolent, halting preparation, is in all respects 
worse than nothing. 



KEY OF RHETORICAL NOTATION. 

KEY OF INFLECTION. 

■- denotes monotone. I \ denotes falling inflection. 

/ " rising inflection. I w " circumflex. 



KEY OF MODULATION. 



(°) high. 

(00\ high and loud. 

(o) low - 

( 00 ) low and loud. 

(..) slow. 



(=■) quick. 

( — ) plaintive. 

( || ) rhetorical pause. 

(<^) increase. 

(^>) decrease. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 



PAGE. 

Reading : its Connection with. Speaking, 17 

Correct Reading, 18 

Rhetorical Reading, 18 

Difficulties from the Genius of Written Language, 19 

All Directions subsidiary to Expression of Feeling, 21 



CHAPTER H. 

Articulation, 22 

Importance of a Good Articulation, 22 

Causes of Defective Articulation, 25 

Difficulties in Articulation, 26 

Difficulty of many Consonant Sounds, 26 

Immediate Succession of similar Sounds, 27 

Influence of Accent, 28 

Tendency to slide over unaccented Vowels, 28 

Cautions, 29 

Impediments, 30 



CHAPTER III. 

Tones and Inflections, 32 

Tones considered as a Language of Emotion, 32 

Description of Inflections, 33 

Classification of Inflections, 36 

Rule I. Influence of the Disjunctive Or on Inflection, 36 

Rule II. Of the Direct Question and its Answer, 37 

Rule III. Of Negation opposed to Affirmation, 38 



10 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Rule IV. Of the Pause of Suspension, 40 

Rule V. Of the Influence of Tender Emotion on the Voice, 41 

Rule VI. Of the Penultimate Pause, 43 

Rule VII. Of the Indirect Question and its Answer, 43 

Rule VIII. The Language of Authority and of Surprise, 44 

Rule IX. Emphatic Succession of Particulars, 46 

Rule X. Emphatic Repetition, 48 

Rule XI. Final Pause, 48 

Rule XII. The Circumflex, 50 



CHAPTER TV. 
Accent, 51 

CHAPTER V. 

Emphasis, 52 

Emphatic Stress, 53 

Absolute Emphatic Stress, 56 

Antithetic or Relative Emphatic Stress, 57 

Emphatic Inflection, 59 

Emphatic Clause, 61 

Double Emphasis, 63 

CHAPTER VI. 

Modulation, 63 

Faults of Modulation, 63 

Monotony, 63 

Mechanical Variety, 64 

Remedies, 65 

The Spirit of Emphasis to be cultivated, 65 

A Habit of Discrimination as to Tones and Inflections, 67 

Pitch of Voice, . 69 

Quantity, 71 

Strength of Voice important to a public Speaker, 71 

depends on Good Organs of Speech, 72 

and the Proper Exercise of these Organs, 72 



CONTENTS. 11 

PAGE. 

Directions for preserving and strengthening them, 73 

Rate of Utterance, 74 

Rhetorical Pause, 75 

Compass of Voice, 77 

Transition, 79 

Expression, 82 

Representation, , 84 

The Reading of Poetry, 87 



CHAPTER VII. 

Rhetorical Action, 91 

Part I. — Principles of Rhetorical Action, 93 

Action as significant from Nature, 93 

Expression of Countenance, 93 

Attitude and Mien, 94 

Action considered as significant from Custom, 96 

Part II. — Faults of Rhetorical Action, 97 

Sources of these, viz., Personal Defects, Diffidence, Imitation, 97 

Mismanagement of the Eye and of Attitude, 99 

Gesture may want Appropriateness and Discrimination, 101 

May be too constant, or violent, or complex, or uniform, 104 

Mechanical Variety, 105 



12 CONTENTS. 

EXERCISES. 
PART I. 

FACX. 

Remarks and Directions, - 108 

EXERCISES ON ARTICULATION. 

Difficult Articulation from immediate Succession of the same or 

similar Sounds, 109 

Difficult Succession of Consonants without Accent, 110 

Tendency to slide over unaccented Vowels, « . . 110 

EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 

Disjunctive Or Ill 

Direct Question, etc. „. 112 

Conjunctive Or, 114 

Negation opposed to Affirmation, 114 

Comparison and Contrast 116 

Pause of Suspension, 119 

Tender Emotion, 124 

Indirect Question, etc., 126 

Language of Authority, Surprise, etc., 129 

Emphatic Succession, etc., 135 

Emphatic Repetition, 138 

EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 

Absolute and Relative Stress, and Emphatic Inflection, 139 

Difference between the Common and the Intensive Inflection, 157 

EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 

Compass of Voice, • • • 158 

Transition, 163 



CONTENTS. 13 

PAGE. 

The Power of Eloquence, , 163 

Hohenlinden, 165 

Hamlet's Soliloquy, 167 

Battle of "Waterloo, 168 

Negro's Complaint, » 170 

Marco Bozzaris, 172 

Extract from Paradise Lost, 174 

Expression, 175 

Judah's Speech, to Joseph, 175 

Joseph disclosing himself, 176 

Death of a Friend 177 

The Sabbath, 178 

Burial of Sir John Moore, 180 

Eve lamenting the Loss of Paradise, 181 

Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle, 182 

Representation, 183 

Examples from the Bible, 183 — 187 

The Siege of Calais, 188 

Extract from a Sermon of Robert Robinson, 189 



PART II. 

MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Man strong only in his Mental Faculties, H. Mann. 191 

What is Time ? Marsden. 193 

Address at the Completion of the Bunker Hill Monument, . . Webster. 194 

Hamlet and Horatio, Shakspeare. 195 

Danger to Civil Liberty, L. Bacon. 198 

Conversation, Coioper. 199 

Quincy's Speech on the Admission of Louisiana, 201 

The same Speech, continued, 202 

Reply to the foregoing Speech, Toindexter. 204 

The Village Blacksmith, Longfellow. 206 

To-morrow, Cotton. 207 

The Character of Washington Webster. 208 

Man was made to mourn , Bums. 210 

9. 



14 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

To his Grace the Duke of Grafton, Junius. 213 

A small Poet, Butler. 214 

Soliloquy of Anne Boleyn Milman. 216 

Eulogy on John Quincy Adams, N. Lord. 217 

A Case where Mercy should have mitigated Justice, Langhorne. 218 

Address to the Mummy, 220 

Othello and Iago, Shakspeare. 222 

Macduff, Id. 223 

William Tell 225 

Harmony among Brethren, Percival. 230 

Harley's Death Makenzie. 232 

Speech on the Reform Bill, Sydney Smith. 234 

Duelling, Dymond. 236 

Cicero against M. Antony 237 

Satan rouses his Legions lying in the Burning Lake, Milton. 239 

The Poetry of Burns, Professor Wilson. 240 

The Claims of Ireland, Grattan. 241 

The Servility of Prance under the Imperial Government of Bona- 
parte, Channing. 243 

The Basis of the American System of Government, Webster. 244 

The " Buried Valley," Mellen. 245 

Military Talent not the highest Endowment, Channing. 247 

The Pilgrims, Everett. 249 

Johnson and Hume, Carlyle. 252 

The Perfect Orator, Sheridan. 253 

Mount Sinai, J. T. Headley. 254 

The Nobility of Johnson, Carlyle. 256 

The " Pilgrim's Progress," Macaulay. 257 

Description of a Storm, Thomson. 259 

The Tale of an Indian Maid, Bryant. 261 

What is Glory ? What is Fame ? Motherwell. 262 

Influence of Circumstances in Education, Professor Haddock. 263 

Darkness, Byron. 265 

On the Occasion of presenting the Sword of Washington and the 

Staff of Franklin, J. Q. Adams. 267 

The Fruits of Luxury, Goldsmith. 269 

The Eloquence of Demosthenes, Brougham. 270 

Eulogy on J. Q. Adams, Everett. 271 

From the Same, continued, 273 

Rest of Empire, Mellen. 274 

Resistance of Government to Natural Rights impolitic, Erskine. 276 

Gratitude due to the Pilgrim Fathers, Everett. Ill 



CONTENTS. 15 

PAGE. 

The Curse of a Bad Government, Burke. 279 

The Death of Marmion, Scott. 280 

The Silent Power of Moral Causes Everett. 283 

Conquest of Canada, Randolph. 284 

Human Frailty, U.K. White. 285 

The Happiness and Dignity of the Unaspiring Citizen, Prof. Haddock. 287 

Character of Rousseau, Carlyle. 287 

Speech on a Veto Message, Clay. 289 

Duelling, Beecher. 291 

Character of the Puritans, Macauley. 293 

Death of Hamilton Nott. 295 

Thunder- Storm, Irving. 296 

Overthrow of the Apostate Angels, . . v Milton. 298 

The True Picture of Man, Young. 300 

Rienzi's Address to the Romans, Mitford. 302 

Death of General Harrison, Prof. Haddock. 303 

Equality in Rank necessary to Friendship, Kenyon. 304 

Fallacy in supposing our Ancestors wiser than ourselves, 

Sydney Smith. 306 

Speech on the Seminole War, » . . . . Clay. 308 

The Romans as Conquerors, Pictorial History. 310 

The Effects and Tendencies of Christianity, President Hopkins. 312 

The Same, continued 315 

The Good Man, Young. 317 

Heat, Arnott. 319 

Light, Arnott. 321 

Character before Scholarship, G. Putnam. 324 

The Spirit of Freedom, Alison. 326 

Shylock, Shakspeare. 328 

Man made for Labor, Everett. 329 

The Murderer detected, Webster. 330 

A Cultivated Imagination, Akenside. 332 

Literature and Morals, Professor Frisbie. 334 

The Beggar, Irving. 337 

Washington, Sparks. 339 

Lines written in a Churchyard, Knowles. 342 

Prince Arthur, Shakspeare. 344 

Blessings of Domestic Life, J. S. Buckminster. 348 

Demosthenes N. A. Review. 350 

The Murdered Traveller, Bryant. 353 

Roderick Dhu and Malcolm, , Scott. 355 

Address to Rev. E. Carey, jR. Hall. 357 



16 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Right of Public Discussion, R. Hall. 360 

The Same, continued, 363 

Uses of the Atmosphere, British Quarterly Review. 366 

French Army as it appeared before and after the Battle of Buzaco, 

Recollections of the Peninsula. 369 

Character of Howard, J. Foster. 372 

Obstacles to the Introduction of Christianity, N. A. Review. 374 

Christian Martyrs Saurin. 377 

Cure of Melancholy, Wilcox. 378 

Sunset in September, Wilcox. 380 

Misery of an Ignorant Old Age, Felltham. 382 

Consequences of abolishing the Sabbath, J. S. Stone. 383 

Thanksgiving, . # J. Hamilton. 385 

Ministerial Example, G. Spring. 387 

The Same, continued, 389 

Hymn to Death, W. Herbert. 391 

Heaven Mrs. Miles. 394 

The United States, Bancroft. 394 



ANALYSIS 



PRINCIPLES OF RHETORICAL DELIVERY. 



CHAPTER I. 
READING. — ITS CONNECTION WITH SPEAKING. 

1. Delivery, in the most general sense, is the com- 
munication of our thoughts to others by oral language. 

2. The importance of this, in professions where it is the chief 
instrument by which one mind acts on others, is so obvious as to 
have given currency to the maxim, that an indifferent composition, 
well delivered, is better received in any popular assembly, than a 
superior one, delivered badly. 

3. In no point is public sentiment more united than in this — 
that the usefulness of one whose main business is public speaking, 
depends greatly on an impressive elocution. This taste is not 
peculiar to the learned or the ignorant ; it is the taste of all men. 

4. But the importance of the subject is by no means limited to 
public speakers. In this country, where literary institutions of 
every kind are springing up, and where the advantages of educa- 
tion are open to all, no one is qualified to hold a respectable rank 
in well-bred society, who is unable at least to read, in an interest- 
ing manner, the works of others. 

5. They who regard this as a polite accomplishment merely, 
forget to how many purposes of business, of rational entertain- 
ment, and of religious duty, the talent may be applied. Of the 

2* 



18 



READING. 



multitudes who are not called to speak in public, including the 
whole of one sex, and all but comparatively a few of the other, 
there is no one to whom the art of reading in a graceful and im- 
pressive manner may not be of great value. 

6. Besides, as the prevalent faults of public speakers arise 
chiefly from early habits contracted in reading, the correction of 
those faults should begin by learning to read well. 

7. Reading, then, like style, may be considered as of 
two sorts — the correct and the rhetorical, 

8. Correct reading respects merely the sense of what 
is read. 

9. When performed audibly, for the benefit of others, it is still 
only the same sort of process which one performs silently, for his 
own benefit, when he casts his eye along the page, to ascertain 
the meaning of its author. 

10. The chief purpose of the correct reader is to be intelligi- 
ble ; and this requires an accurate perception of grammatical 
relation in the structure of sentences ; a due regard to accent and 
pauses, to strength of voice, and clearness of utterance. 

11. This manner is generally adopted in reading plain, un- 
impassioned style, such as that which we find to a considerable 
extent in those Psalms of David, and Proverbs of Solomon, where 
the sentences are short, without emphasis. It often prevails, too, 
in the reading of narrative, and of public documents in legislative 
and judicial transactions. 

12. The character and purpose of a composition may be such, 
that it would be as preposterous to read it with tones of emotion, 
as it would be, to announce a proposition in grammar or geometry 
in the language of metaphor. But, though merely the correct man- 
ner suits many purposes of reading, it is dry and inanimate, and 
is the lowest department in the province of delivery. Still the 
great majority, not to say of respectable men, but of bookish men, 
go nothing beyond this in their attainments or attempts. 

13. Rhetorical reading has a higher object, and calls 
into action higher powers. It is not applicable to a com- 



READING. 19 

position destitute of emotion, for it supposes feeling. It 
does not barely express the thoughts of an author, but 
expresses them with the force, variety, and beauty, which 
feeling demands. 

14. The value of the graphic art consists in its being a medium 
for the acquisition of knowledge, and for the communication of 
it. In the former case, I refer to the use we make of language 
in silent reading. The facility with which this is done depends 
on our acquaintance with the characters of which words are 
formed ; the meaning of words, singly ; and the principles which 
govern their combination in sentences. 

15. Our eye may glance over a page in our own tongue, so 
as to perceive all its meaning, in the same time that would be 
employed on a short sentence of a language which we are 
only beginning to learn. But in silent reading, though the eye 
perceives at a look the form and meaning of words, it cannot 
perceive the meaning of sentences, without including also gram- 
matical relation. 

16. Hence points or pauses are indispensable in the graphic 
art, as designed merely for the eye. We may take as an exam- 
ple the celebrated response of the oracle — * 

" Ibis et redibis nunquam peribis in bello." 

The eye has no means of judging whether the meaning is, you 
shall never return, or, you shall never perish, unless a pause is 
inserted before or after nunquam, to determine with which verb it 
is grammatically connected. 

17. So far the principles of written language go ; they em- 
brace words and pauses, and here stop. But the moment we 
come to transform this written language into oral, by reading 
aloud, a new set of principles come in with their claims, for 
which the arts of writing and of printing have made no pro- 
vision. 

18. Here the reader becomes a speaker, and is required to 
mark with his voice the degrees of emphatic stress, and all the 



20 READING. 

varieties of pitch, quantity of sound, and rate of utterance, which 
sentiment demands. But he is trammelled with the narrowness 
of language as presented to the eye. He has been accustomed 
to regard words and pauses only, and all the movements of his 
voice are adjusted accordingly. You may tell him that he has a 
tone, but he knows not what you mean. Tell him to be natural, 
to be in earnest, and you have given him an excellent direc- 
tion indeed ; but how to apply it to the case in hand, is the diffi- 
culty. He is more rapid perhaps, or more loud, for this admoni- 
tion, but, under the dominion of inveterate habit, he goes on with 
his tone still. 

19. To the above defect in the art of printing let another fact 
be added, — that a great proportion of language, as it appears in 
books, neither demands nor admits any variety of tones and em- 
phasis; and another still, that, in most men, habits of voice, 
once established, cannot be changed without great and perse- 
vering efforts ; and it will not seem strange that the number of 
good readers is so small, even among educated and professional 
men. 

20. British writers have constantly complained of the dull, 
formal manner in which the Liturgy and the Sacred Scriptures 
are read in their churches. And often, in the pulpits of this 
country, the reading of the Bible is apparently so destitute, not of 
feeling and devotion merely, but of all just discrimination, as to 
remind one of the question put by Philip to the nobleman of 
Ethiopia — " Understandest thou what thou readest ? " 

21. When we consider the extent to which these faults prevail 
in rhetorical reading, and the correspondent faults which of 
course prevail in public speaking, it is time that this greatly neg- 
lected subject should receive its due share of attention, amid the 
general advances in other departments of literature and taste. 

22. Now, if there could at once spring up in our country a 
supply of teachers, competent, as living models, to regulate the 
tones of boys, in the forming age, nothing more would be 
needed. But, to a great extent, these teachers are to be them- 
selves formed. And to produce the transformation which the 



READING. 21 

case demands, some attempt seems necessary to go to the root of 
the evil, by incorporating the principles of spoken language with 
the written. 

23. Not that such a change should be attempted in respect to 
books generally ; but in books of elocution, designed for this single 
purpose, visible marks may be employed, sufficient to designate 
the chief points of established correspondence between sentiment 
and voice. These principles, being well settled in the mind of 
the pupil, may be spontaneously applied, where no such marks 
are used. 

But as this subject is to be resumed under the head of inflec- 
tions, I drop it here, with a remark or two in passing. 

Rem. 1. Be it remembered, then, that all directions, as to management 
of the voice, must be regarded as subsidiary to expression of feeling, or they 
are worse than useless. " Emotion is the thing. One flash of passion on the 
cheek, one beam of feeling from the eye, one thrilling note of sensibility from 
the tongue, has a thousand times more value than any exemplification of 
mere rules, where feeling is absent." * The benefit of analysis and precept is, 
to aid the teacher in making the pupil conscious of his own faults, as a pre- 
requisite to their correction. The object is, to unfetter the soul, and to set it 
free to act. In doing this, a notation for the eye, designed to regulate the 
voice in a few obvious particulars, may be of much advantage ; otherwise why 
shall we not dismiss punctuation, too, from books, and depend wholly on the 
teacher for pauses, as well as tones ? * 

Rem. 2. The reasonable prejudice which some intelligent men have felt 
against any system of notation, arises from the preposterous extent to which 
it has been carried by a few popular teachers, and especially by their humble 
imitators. A judicious medium is what we want. Five characters in music, 
and six vowels in writing, enter into an infinitude of combinations in melody 
and language. So the elementary modifications of voice in speaking are few, 
and easily understood ; and to mark them, so far as distinction is useful, does 
not require a tenth part of the rules which some have thought necessary. 

Rem. 3. The intellectual and moral qualities indispensable to form an 
orator, are brought into view, in the following pages, no further than they 
modify delivery. The parts of external oratory, as voice, look, and gesture, 
are only instruments by which the soul acts ; when the inspiration of soul is 
absent, these instruments cannot produce eloquence. A treatise on delivery, 
then, must presuppose the existence of genius, mental discipline, and eleva- 
tion of moral sentiment ; though a distinct consideration of these belongs to 
rhetoric, as a branch of intellectual and Christian philosophy. 

* Knowles. 



22 ARTICULATION. 



DIVISIONS OF THE WORK. 

24. The parts of delivery to be considered in their 
order are, 

I. Articulation. 

II. Inflection. 

III. Accent and Emphasis. 

IV. Modulation. 
Y. Action. 

Rem. I premise here, once for all, that I employ terms according to ths 
best modern use, with as little as possible of technical abstractness. Elocu- 
tion, which anciently embraced style, and the whole art of rhetoric, now sig- 
nifies manner of delivery, whether of our own thoughts or those of others. 
Pronunciation, which anciently signified the whole of delivery, is now equiva- 
lent to orthoepy, or the proper utterance of single words. It were easy, by a 
critical disquisition, to trace out the etymological affinities of all these terms, 
and to teach the pupil a distinction between an orator and an eloquent man, 
between articulation and distinct enunciation of words, etc. ; but instead of 
the scientific air adopted in some works on elocution, it seems to me that the 
better, because the simpler, course is, to use words as they will be most readily 
understood by men of reading and taste. 

In this view I have chosen to make the head of Modulation so generic, as to 
include pitch, quantity, rate, rhetorical pause, transition, expression, and repre- 
sentation. 



CHAPTER II. 
ARTICULATION. 

IMPORTANCE OF A GOOD ARTICULATION. 

25. On whatever subject, and for whatever purpose, a man 
speaks to his fellow-men, they will never listen to him with inter- 
est, unless they can hear what he says ; and that without effort. 
If his utterance is rapid and indistinct, no weight of his sentiments, 
no strength or smoothness of voice, no excellence of modulation, 



ARTICULATION. 23 

emphasis, or cadence, will enable him to speak so as to be heard 
with pleasure. 

26. For his own sake, too, the public speaker should feel the 
importance of a clear articulation. Without this, the necessary 
apprehension that his voice may not reach distant hearers, will 
lead to elevation of pitch, and increase of quantity ; till he grad- 
ually forms a habit of vociferation, at the expense of all interesting 
variety, if not (as in too many cases it has turned out) with the 
sacrifice of lungs and life. 

27. Every one who is accustomed to converse with partially 
deaf persons, knows how much more easily they hear a moderate 
voice with clear articulation, than one that is loud, but rapid and 
indistinct. In addressing a public assembly, the same advantage 
attends a voice of inferior strength, which marks the proper dis- 
tinction of letters and syllables.* 

28. It has been well said, that a good articulation is to the ear 
what a fair handwriting, or a fair type, is to the eye. Who has 
not felt the perplexity of supplying a word, torn away by the seal 
of a letter ; or a dozen syllables of a book, in as many lines, cut 
off by the carelessness of a binder ? 

29. The same inconvenience is felt from a similar omission in 



* For these reasons, the ancients regarded articulation as the first requisite 
in delivery ; without which, indeed, all other acquisitions are vain. On this 
account, Cicero says y the Catuli were esteemed the best speakers of the Latin 
language ; their tones being sweet, and their syllables uttered without effort 
in a voice neither feeble nor clamorous. So fastidious was the Roman ear, 
even among the uneducated, that the same orator says, " In repetition of a 
verse, the whole theatre was in an uproar, if there happened to be one syllable 
too many or too few. Not that the crowd had any notion of numbers ; nor 
could they tell what it was which gave the offence, nor in what respect it was 
a fault." It was not because the fire of genius was wanting in the youthful 
orator of Athens, that his audience repeatedly met his first efforts in speaking 
with hisses ; but it was on account of his feeble, hurried, stammering utter- 
ance. To correct these faults it was that he betook himself to speaking amid 
the sound of dashing waves, the effort of walking up hill, and the incon- 
venience of holding pebbles in his mouth, that he might acquire a body to his 
voice, and a habit of distinct and deliberate utterance. 

t De Offlciis, lib. 1. 



24 ARTICULATION. 

spoken languages ; with this additional disadvantage, that we are 
not at liberty to stop and spell out the meaning by construction. 
I have heard a preacher with a good voice, in addressing his hear- 
ers with the exhortation, " Repent, and return to the Lord," utter 
distinctly but three syllables, namely, pent, — turn, — Lord. 

30. -Who would excuse the printer that should mutilate this 
sentence in the same manner ? When a man reads Latin or 
Greek, we expect him to utter nouns, pronouns, and even parti- 
cles, so that their several syllables, especially those denoting 
grammatical inflections, may be heard distinctly. Let one noun 
in a sentence be spoken so that the ear cannot perceive whether 
it is in the nominative, or accusative, or vocative, or ablative, — or 
one verb, so as to leave it uncertain to what mood or tense it 
belongs, — and the sense of the whole sentence is ruined. 

31. But in the English language, abounding as it does with 
particles, harsh syllables, and compound words, both the necessity 
and the difficulty of a perfect utterance are greater still. Our 
thousands of prefix and suffix syllables, auxiliaries, and little words 
which mark grammatical connection, render bad articulation a 
fatal defect in delivery. 

32. One example may illustrate my meaning. A man of indis- 
tinct utterance reads this sentence : " The magistrates ought to 
prove a declaration so publicly made." When I perceive that his 
habit is to strike only the accented syllable clearly, sliding over 
others, I do not know whether it is meant that they ought to prove 
the declaration, or to approve it, or reprove it, — for in either case 
he would speak only the syllable prove. Nor do I know whether 
the magistrates ought to do it, or the magistrate sought to do it. 

33. A respectable modern writer on delivery says, " In just 
articulation, the words are not to be hurried over ; nor precipi- 
tated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it were, melted together into 
a mass of confusion. They should be neither abridged nor pro- 
longed ; nor swallowed, nor forced ; they should not be trailed, 
nor drawled, nor let to slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. 
They are to be delivered out from the lips as beautiful coins newly 
issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly 



ARTICULATION. 25 

finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due suc- 
cession, and due weight." * 

CAUSES OF DEFECTIVE ARTICULATION. 

34. This arises from bad organs, or bad habits, or 
sounds of difficult utterance. 

35. Every one knows how the loss of a tooth, or a contusion 
on the lip, affects the formation of oral sounds. When there is 
an essential fault in the structure of the mouth ; when the tongue 
is disproportionate in length or width, or sluggish in its move- 
ments ; or the palate is too high or too low ; or the teeth badly 
set or decayed, — art may diminish, but cannot fully remove the 
difficulty. 

38. In nine cases out of ten, however, imperfect articulation 
comes not so much from bad organs as from the abuse of good 
ones.t 

37. Besides the mischief that comes from early imitation, the 
animal and intellectual temperament doubtless has some connec- 
tion with this subject. A sluggish action of the mind imparts a 
correspondent character to the action of the vocal organs, and 
makes speech only a succession of indolent, half-formed sounds, 

* Austin's Chironomia. 

f Sheridan says, "In several northern counties of England, there are scarce 
any of the inhabitants who can pronounce the letter r at all. Yet it would be 
strange to suppose that all those people should have been so unfortunately 
distinguished from other natives of this island, as to be born with any peculiar 
defect in their organs, when this matter is so plainly to be accounted for upon 
the principles of imitation and habit." Though provincialisms are fewer in 
this country than in most others, a similar incapacity is witnessed, in families 
or districts more or less extensive, to speak certain letters or syllables, which 
are elsewhere spoken with perfect ease. The same fact extends to different 
nations. There are some sounds of the English language, as the nice distinc- 
tion between d and t, and between the two aspirated sounds of th, that adult 
natives of France and Germany cannot learn to pronounce. Some sounds in 
their languages are equally difficult to us ; but this implies no original differ- 
ence of vocal organs. And surely no defect in these need be supposed, to 
account for stubborn imperfections in the utterance of those who from infancy 
have been under the influence of vulgar example. 
3 



26 ARTICULATION. 

more resembling the muttering of a dream, than the clear articu- 
lation which we ought to expect in one who knows what he is 
saying. 

38. Excess of vivacity, on the other hand, or excess of sen- 
sibility, often produces a hasty, confused utterance. Delicacy 
speaks in a timid, feeble voice ; and the fault of indistinctness is 
often aggravated, in a bashful child, by the indiscreet chidings of 
his teacher, designed to push him into greater speed in spelling 
out his early lessons ; while he has little familiarity with the form 
and sound, and less with the meaning of words. 

DIFFICULTIES IN ARTICULATION. 

39. The first and chief difficulty lies in the fact that 
articulation consists essentially in the consonant sounds, 
and that many of these are difficult of utterance. 

40. My limits do not allow me to illustrate this by a minute 
analysis of the elements of speech. It is evident to the slightest 
observation that the open vowels are uttered with ease and strength. 
On these, public criers swell their notes to so great a compass. 
On these, too, the loudest notes of music are formed. 

41. Hence the great skill which is requisite to distinct articula- 
tion in music ; for the stream of voice, which flows so easily on 
the vowels and half vowels, is interrupted by the occurrence of a 
harsh consonant ; and not only the sound, but the breath, is 
entirely stopped by a mute. 

42. In singing, for example, any syllable which ends with p, 
Jc, d, or t, all the sound must be uttered on the preceding vowel ; 
for when the organs come to the proper position for speaking the 
mute, the voice instantly ceases. Let any experienced singer 
carefully try the experiment of speaking, in the notes of a slow 
tune, these lines : — 

" With earnest longings of the mind, 
My God, to thee I look." 

Each syllable should be spoken by itself, with a pause after it. 

43. In this way it will appear that where the syllable ends with 



ARTICULATION. 27 

a consonant, especially a mute, the stream of sound is emitted on 
the preceding vowel, but is broken off when the consonant is fin- 
ished. This is the case with the syllables mind, God, look ; the 
moment the organs come into a position to speak d or k, they are 
shut, so as to stop both sound and breath. But in the syllables 
my, to, thee, I, the closing vowel sounds are perfectly formed 
at once, and may be continued indefinitely, without any change 
of the organs. 

44. The common mode of singing, indeed, is but a mere suc- 
cession of musical notes, or open vowel sounds, varying in pitch, 
with little attempt to articulate the consonant sounds. This 
explains what has sometimes been thought a mystery, that stam- 
mering persons find little difficulty in reading poetry, and none 
in singing ; * whereas they stop at once in speaking, when they 
come to certain consonants. 

45. Any one who would practically understand this subject, 
should recollect that the distinction between human speech and 
the inarticulate sounds of brutes, lies not in the vowels, but in the 
consonants ; and that in a defective utterance of these, bad artic- 
ulation primarily consists. 

46. A second difficulty arises from the immediate suc- 
cession of the same or similar sounds. [For practice, 
see Ex. I. No. 344.] 

Examples. (1.) From the recurrence of aspirates and vow- 
els ; as, 

" Up the high Mil he Aeaves a huge round stone." 

(2.) From the collision t of open vowels ; as, 

" Though, oft the ear the open vowels tire." 

(3.) A still greater difficulty is occasioned by the immediate 
recurrence of the same consonant sound, without the intervention 

* This is partly owing, also, to a deliberate metrical movement. 

f Every scholar knows that the Greeks adopted many changes in the com- 
bination of syllables to render their language euphonic, by avoiding such col- 
lisions. On this account they wrote navT i'Xeyov for iravra k'Xeyov; dd>' ov for d-no 
ov ; KtfYV f° r *■<*' zy M » titdoiKEii avTtiJ for diSwia; avrib, etc. 



28 ARTICULATION. 

of a vowel or a pause ; as, " For Christ's sake." " The hosts 
still stood." " The battle lasts still." 

Examples in ichich bad articulation affects the sense. 

Wastes and deserts ; — Waste sand deserts. 

To obtain either ; — To obtain neither. 

His cry moved me ; — His crime moved me. 

He could pay nobody ; — He could pain nobody. 
47. Two successive sounds are to be formed here, with the organs in the 
same position ; so that, without a pause between, only one of the single sounds 
is spoken ; and the difficulty is much increased when sense or grammatical 
relation forbids such a pause ; as between the simple nominative and the verb, 
the verb and its object, the adjective and its substantive. In the last example, 
— " He could pain nobody," — grammar forbids a pause between pain and no- 
body, while orthoepy demands one. But change the structure so as to render 
a pause proper after pain, and the difficulty vanishes; thus, "Though he 
endured great pain, nobody pitied him." 

48. A third difficulty arises from the influence of 
accent. 

49. The importance which this stress attaches to syllables on 
which it falls, requires them to be spoken in a more full and 
deliberate manner than others. Hence, if the recurrence of this 
stress is too close, it occasions heaviness in utterance ; if too 
remote, indistinctness. An example of the former kind, we have 
from the poet before quoted. 

" And ten low words oft creep in one dull line." 

50. This, too, is an additional reason for the difficult utterance 
of the line lately quoted from the same writer : — 

" Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone." 
The poet compels us, in spite of metrical harmony, to lay an 
accent on each syllable. 

51. But the remoteness of accent in other cases involves a 
greater difficulty still ; as in the words communicatively, author- 
itatively, terrestrial, reasonableness, disinterestedness. 

52. & fourth difficulty arises from a tendency of the 
organs to slide over unaccented vowels.* 

* Walker says, "Where vowels are under the accent, the prince and the 
lowest of the people, with very few exceptions, pronounce them in the same 



ARTICULATION. 29 

53. There is a large class of words beginning with pre and 
pro, in which the distinction between the careful scholar and the 
illiterate man seldom fails to appear. In prevent, prevail, pre- 
dict, a bad articulation sinks e of the first syllable so as to make 
pr-vent, pr-vail, pr-dict. The case is the same with o in proceed, 
profane, promote ; spoken pr-ceed, etc. So e and o are con- 
founded with short u in event, omit, etc., spoken uvvent, ummit. 
In the same manner, u is transformed into e, as in populous, regu- 
lar, singular, educate, etc., spoken pop-e-lous, reg-e-lar, ed-e-cate. 
A smart percussion of the tongue, with a little rest on the conso- 
nant before u, so as to make it quite distinct, would remove the 
difficulty. 

54. The same sort of defect, it may be added, often appears 
in the indistinct utterance of consonants ending syllables ; thus in 
attempt, ai-tention, effect, qf-fence, the consonant of the first 
syllable is suppressed. [For practice, see 344, Ex. III.] 

CAUTIONS. 
To the foregoing remarks, it may be proper to add three cautions. 

55. The first is, in aiming to acquire a distinct articu- 
lation, take care not to form one that is measured and 
mechanical. 

Obs. Something of preciseness is very apt to appear at first, when we at- 
tempt to correct the above faults ; but practice and perseverance will enable us 
to combine ease and fluency with clearness of utterance. The child, in passing 
from his spelling manner, is ambitious to become a swift reader, and thus falls 
into a confusion of organs that is to be cured only by retracing the steps which 
produced it. The remedy, however, is no better than the fault, if it runs into 
a scan-ning, pe-dan-tic for-mal-i-ty , giving undue stress to particles and unac- 
cented syllables ; thus, " He is the man of all the world whom I rejoice to 
meet." Perhaps there is something in the technical formalities of language 
attached to the bar, which inclines some speakers of that profession to this 
fault. In the pulpit, there is sometimes an artificial solemnity, which pro- 
duces a drawling, measured articulation, of a still more exceptionable kind.* 

manner ; but the unaccented vowels, in the mouth of the former, have a dis- 
tinct, open sound ; while the latter often totally sink them, or change them 
into some other sound." 

* In some parts of our country, inhabited by descendants of foreigners, 

3* 



30 ARTICULATION. 

56. The second caution is, — let the close of sentences 
be spoken clearly ; with sufficient strength, and on the 
proper pitch, to bring out the meaning completely. No 
part of a sentence is so important as the close, both in 
respect to sense and harmony. 

57. The third caution is, — ascertain your own defects 
of articulation, by the aid of some friend, and then devote 
a short time, statedly and daily, to correct them. 

Rem. It is impossible, without a resolute experiment, to knoAv how much 
the habit of reading aloud, besides all its other advantages, may do for a public 
speaker in giving distinctness to his delivery.* At first, this exercise should 
be in the hearing of a second person, who may stop the reader, and point out, 
at the moment, the fault to be corrected. For some time, the rate of 
utterance should be slower than usual, and directed to the single point of dis- 
tinctness, dismissing all regard to the sense of words, lest this lead him to 
forget the object. To make sure of this end, if he cannot do it otherwise, he 
may pronounce the words of a common vocabulary. At any rate, let him make 
a list of such words and combinations as he has found most difficult to his 
organs, and repeat them as a set exercise. If he has been accustomed to say 
omnip-e-tent, pop-e-lous, pr-mote, pr-vent, let him learn to speak the unaccented 
vowels properly. 

IMPEDIMENTS. 

\ 

58. As directly connected with articulation, a few remarks on 
impediments seem to be necessary. Stammering may doubtless 
exist from such causes, and to such degree, as to be insurmount- 

especially the Dutch, there is a prevalent habit of sinking the sound of e or i in 
words where English usage preserves it, as in rebel, chapel, Latin, — spoken 
reVl, chap'l, Lat'n. In other cases, where English usage suppresses the vowel, 
the same persons speak it with marked distinctness, or turn it into u ; as, 
ev'n, op'ti, heav'n, pronounced ev-un, op-un, heav-im. 

* A friend of mine, a respectable lawyer, informed me that, in a court which 
he usually attended, there was often much difficulty to hear what was spoken 
at the bar and from the bench. One of the judges, however, a man of slender 
health, and somewhat advanced in age, was heard with perfect ease in every 
part of the court-room, whenever he spoke. So observable was the difference 
between him and others, that the fact was mentioned to him as a subject of 
curiosity. The judge explained it by saying, that his vocal powers, which 
were originally quite imperfect, had acquired clearness and strength by the 
long-continued habit of reading aloud for about half an hour, every day. 



ARTICULATION. 31 

able ; though, in most cases, a complete remedy is attainable by 
the early use of proper means. 

59. They who have given most attention to this defect, sup- 
pose that it should generally be ascribed to some infelicity of 
nervous temperament. When this is the cause, eagerness of 
emotion, fear of strangers, surprise, anxiety, — any thing that pro- 
duces a sudden rush of spirits, — will communicate a spasmodic 
action to the organs of speech. The process of cure, in such a 
case, must begin with such attention to bodily health, as will give 
firmness to the nervous system, and produce a calm, clear, and 
regular action of the mind. 

60. With this preparation, it is best not to put the stammerer at 
first to the hardest task of his organs, but to begin at a distance, 
and come to the difficulty by regular approaches. The course 
that has been pursued, with perfect success, by one respectable 
teacher, is this : The pupil is to begin with reading verse ; the 
more simple and regular, the better : he is to mark the feet 
distinctly with his voice, and beat time with his hand or toe to the 
movement. From verse of this regular structure, he may pro- 
ceed to that which is less uniform in metrical order ; then to prose, 
of the elevated and poetic kind ; then to common prose ; and then, 
by degrees, to the difficult combinations at which he had been 
accustomed to stammer. 

61. In repeating certain words, there may be an obstinate 
struggle of the organs ; as, in the attempt to pronounce parable, 
the p may be spoken again and again, while the remainder of 
the word does not follow. In such a case, the advice of the 
celebrated Dr. Darwin was, that the stammerer should, in a strong 
voice, eight or ten times, repeat the word, without the initial 
letter, or with an aspirate before it ; as, arable, harable ; and then 
speak it softly, with the initial letter^?, — parable. This should 
be practised, for weeks or months, upon every word where the 
difficulty of utterance chiefly occurs. 



32 TONES AND INFLECTION. 

CHAPTER III. 
TONES AND INFLECTION. 

62. The former of these terms is more comprehensive than 
the latter, embracing, in its most extensive sense, all sounds of the 
human voice. In a more restricted and proper sense, we mean 
by tones those sounds which stand connected with some rhetori- 
cal principle of language. In a feV cases, passion is expressed 
by tones which have no inflection ; but more commonly inflec- 
tion is what gives significance to tones. Except a few general 
remarks here, no consideration of tones seems necessary, distinct 
from the subject of the following chapters, especially Modulation. 

TONES CONSIDERED AS A LANGUAGE OF EMOTION. 

63. Sight has commonly been considered as the most active 
of all our senses. As a source of emotion, we derive impressions 
more various, and in some respects more vivid, from this sense, 
than from any other. Yet the class of tender emotions, such as 
grief and pity, are probably excited more strongly by the ear 
than the eye. 

64. Whether any reason can be assigned for this or not, the 
fact seems unquestionable. A groan or shriek, uttered by the 
human voice, is not only more intelligible than words, but. more 
instantly awakens our sensibility than any signs of distress that 
are presented to the sight. 

65. Our sympathy in the sufferings of irrational animals is in- 
creased in the same way. The violent contortions of the fish, in 
the pangs of death, being exhibited without the aid of vocal 
organs, very faintly excite our compassion, compared with the 
plaintive bleatings of an expiring lamb. 

66. And a still stronger distinction seems to prevail among 
brutes themselves ; for while the passion of fear in them is 
associated chiefly with objects of sight, that of pity is awakened, 
almost exclusively, by the sense of hearing. 



TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 33 

67. The cry of distress from a suffering animal instinctively 
calls around him his fellows of the same species, though this cry 
is an unknown tongue to animals of any other class. At the 
same time, his own species, if he utters no cries, while they see 
him in excruciating agony, manifest no sympathy in his sufferings. 

6S. Without inquiring minutely into the philosophy of vocal 
tones, as being signs of emotion, we must take the fact for 
granted that they are so. And no man surely will question the 
importance of this language in oratory, when he sees that it is 
understood by mere children ; and that even his horse or his dog 
distinguishes perfectly those sounds of his voice which express his 
anger or his approbation. 

DESCRIPTION OF INFLECTIONS. 

69. The absolute modifications of the voice in speak- 
ing are four ; namely, monotone, rising inflection, falling 
inflection, and circumflex. 

70. The first may be marked to the eye by a hori- 
zontal line, thus, ( - ) ; the second thus, ( ' ) ; the third thus, 
( v ) ; the fourth thus, ( ~ ). 

71. The monotone is a sameness of sound on succes- 
sive syllables, which resembles that produced by repeated 
strokes on a bell. 

Rem. Perhaps this is never carried so far as to amount to perfect same- 
ness ; but it often approaches this point, so as to be both irksome and ludi- 
crous. Still, more or less of this quality belongs to grave delivery, especially 
in elevated description, or where emotions of sublimity or reverence are ex- 
pressed. Any one would be shocked, for example, at an address to Jehovah, 
uttered with the sprightly and varied tones of conversation. 

72. The following lines have often been given as a good ex- 
ample of the dignity and force attending the monotone when 
properly used. 

" High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat." • 



34 TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 

73. The rising inflection turns the voice upward, or 
ends higher than it begins. It is heard invariably in the 
direct question ; as, " Will you go to-day ? " 

74. The falling inflection turns the voice downwards, 
or ends lower than it begins. It is heard in the answer 
to a question ; as, " No ; I shall go to-morrow" 

75. As the whole doctrine of inflections depends on these two 
simple slides of the voice, one more explanation seems necessary, 
as to the degree in which each is applied, under different cir- 
cumstances. 

76. In most cases where the rising slide is used, it is only a 
gentle turn of the voice upward, one or two notes. In cases of 
emotion, as in the spirited, direct question, the slide may pass 
through five or eight notes. The former may be called the com- 
mon rising inflection, the latter the intensive. 

77. Just the same distinction exists in the falling inflection. 
Many, not aware of this difference, have carried Walker's prin- 
ciples to an extreme. In the question, uttered with surprise, 
" Are you going to-day 7 " the slide is intensive. But in the fol- 
lowing case, it is common : u As fame is but breath, as riches are 
transitory, and life itself is uncertain, so we should seek a letter 
portion." To carry the rising slide in the latter case as far as 
in the former, is a great fault, though not an uncommon one. 

78. The circumflex is a union of the two inflections, sometimes 
on one syllable, and sometimes on several. Walker's first exam- 
ple extends it to three syllables, though his description limits it to 
one. It begins with the falling and ends with the rising slide. 
This turn of the voice is not so often used, nor so easily distin- 
guished, as the two simple slides just mentioned ; though it occurs, 
if I mistake not, especially in familiar language, much oftener 
than Walker seems to suppose. 

79. In many cases where it is used, there is something con- 
ditional in the thought ; as, " I may go to-morrow, though I cannot 
go to-day." Irony or scorn is also expressed by it ; as, " They tell 
us to be moderate ; but they, they, are to revel in profusion." On 



TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 35 

the words marked in these examples, there is a significant twist- 
ing of the voice downwards and then upwards, without which the 
sense is not expressed.* 

Rem. As to Mr. Walker's remark on another circumflex, which he calls the 
falling, I must doubt the accuracy either of his ear or my own ; for in his 
examples I cannot distinguish it from the falling slide, modified perhaps by 
circumstances, but having nothing of that distinctive character which belongs 
to the circumflex just described. In mimicry and burlesque, I can perceive a 
falling circumflex in a few cases, but it is applicable, I think, very rarely, if 
ever, in grave delivery. f 

80. Besides these absolute modifications of voice, 
there are others, which may be called relative, and which 
may be classed under the four heads of pitch, quantity, 
rate, and quality. These may be presented thus : — 

Pitch. \V&>'> Quantity. \ lo ^> ' Rate.\^> Quality A live ^ \ 
t low ; (. solt ; C slow ; (. pathetic. 

Rem. As these relative modifications of voice assume almost an endless 
variety, according to sentiment and emotion in a speaker, they belong to the 
chapter on modulation. 



* We may take an example which gives these three inflections of voice 
successively ; though, perhaps, it will hardly be intelligible to a mere beginner. 
The abrupt clause in Hamlet's soliloquy, — " To die, to sleep, no more," is com- 
monly read with the falling slide on each word, thus, " to d.e, to sleep, no mdre," 
expressing no sense, or a false one ; as if Hamlet meant, " When I die, I shall 
no more sleep." But place the rising inflection on die, the falling on sleep, 
and the circumflex on no more, and you have this sense : " To die ? — what is 
it ? — no terrible event ; it is merely falling asleep ; " — thus, to die, — to sleep, 
— no more. Some skilful readers give the rising slide to the last clause, turn- 
ing it into a question or exclamation ; "No more ! — is this all ? " But the cir- 
cumflex seems better to represent the desperate hardihood with which Hamlet 
was reasoning himself into a contempt of death. 

f I am aware that some, whose opinion I greatly respect, think Walker to 
be right on this point. Doubtless they mean something by falling circumflex 
of which I have been able to gain no distinct apprehension, except as stated 
above. 



36 TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 

CLASSIFICATION OF INFLECTIONS.* 
Both Inflections togethee. 

RULE I. 

81. When the disjunctive or connects words or clauses, 
it has the rising inflection before, and the falling after it. 

EXAMPLES. 

Shall I come to you with, a rod — or in love ? 

Art thou he that should come — or look we for another ? 

The baptism of John, was it from heaven — or of men ? 

Will you go — or stay ? 

Will you ride — or walk ? 

Will you go to-day — or to-morrow? 

Did you see him — or his brother ? 

Did he travel for health — or pleasure ? 

Did he resemble his father — or his mother ? 

Is this book yours — or mine ? 

For Exercises, see No. 347. 

* In order to render the classification which I have given intelligible, I 
have chosen examples chiefly from colloquial language ; because the tones of 
conversation ought to be the basis of delivery, and because these only are at 
once recognized by the ear. Being conformed to nature, they are instinc- 
tively right ; so that scarcely a man in a million uses artificial tones in con- 
versation. And this one fact, I remark in passing, furnishes a standing canon 
to the learner in elocution. In contending with any bad habit of voice, let 
him break up the sentence on which the difficulty occurs, and throw it, if pos- 
sible, into the colloquial form. Let him observe, in himself and others, the 
turns of voice which occur in speaking, familiarly and earnestly, on common 
occasions. Good taste will then enable him to transfer to public delivery the 
same turns of voice, adapting them, as he must of necessity, to the elevation 
of his subject. 

The examples set down under each rule should be repeated by the student, 
in the hearing of some competent judge, till he is master of that one point, 
before he proceeds to another. If more examples, in the first instance, are 
found necessary to this purpose, they may be sought in the exercises. 

As the difficulty of the learner at first is, to distinguish the two chief inflec- 
tions, and as the best method of doing this is by comparing them together, 



TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 37 

RULE II. 

82. The direct question, or that which admits the 
answer of yes or no, has the rising inflection, and the 
answer has the falling. 

EXAMPLES. 

Are they Hebrews ? So am V L 

Are they 'Israelites 3 So am VI. 

Are they the seed of 'Abraham ? So am VL 

Are they ministers of Christ ? I am more. Paul, 

Did you speak to it } My lord, I did. 

Hold you the watch to-night ? We do, my lord. 

'Armed, say you ? ^ Armed, my lord. 

From top to toe ? My lord, from head to foot. 

Then saw you not his face ? O yes, my lord. 

What, looked he frdwningly ? A countenance more in sdrrow than in 

angeis. 
Pale ? Nay, very pale. 

Shah. Hamlet. 
For Exercises, see No. 349. 

Note 1. This sort of question ends with the rising slide, whether the an- 
swer follows it or not. But it is not true, as Mr. Walker has seemed to sup- 
pose, that every question beginning with a verb is of this sort. If I wish to 
know whether my friend will go on a journey within two days, I say, perhaps, 
" Will you go to-day or to-morrow ? " He may answer, " Yes," — because my 
rising inflection on both words implies that I used the or between them con- 
junctively. But if I had used it disjunctively, it must have had the rising 
slide before it, and the falling after ; and then the question is, not whether he 
will go within two days, but on which of the two ; — thus, " Will you go to- 
ddy — or to-mdrrow ? " The whole question, in this case, though it begins with 
a verb, cannot admit the rising slide. 

The very general habit of elocution which gives this slide to a question be- 
ginning with a verb, is superseded by the stronger principle of emphatic con- 
trast in Rule 1st. Thus the disciples said to Christ, "Is it lawful to give 
tribute to Caesar, or not ? Shall we give, or shall we nut give ? " Pilate said 
to the Jews, " Shall I release unto you Barabbas, or Jesus ? " Let the rising 
slide be given on both names, in this latter case, and the answer might indeed 

the following classification begins with cases in which the two are statedly 
found in the same connection ; and then extends to cases in which they are 
used separately ; the whole being marked in a continued series of rules, for 
convenient reference. 

4 



38 TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 

be yes or no, but the sense is perverted, by making these, two names for the 
same person ; just as in the following : " Was this becoming in Zoroaster, or 
the Philosopher of the Magi ? " Such an example may help to satisfy those 
who doubt the significance of inflection. See No. 349. 

Note 2. "When exclamation becomes a question, it demands the rising 
slide; as, "How, you say, are we to acc5mplish it? How acc6mplish it! 
Certainly not by fearing to attempt it." 

RULE III. 

83. When negation is opposed to affirmation, the 
former has the rising, and the latter the falling, inflec- 
tion.* 

EXAMPLES. 

I did not say a bitter soldier, — but an hlder. 
Study not for amusement, — but for improvement. 
Aim not to shdio knowledge, — but to acquire it. 
He was esteemed, not for wialth, — but for wisdom. 
He will not come to-day, — but to-morrow. 
He did not act wisely, — but unwisely. 
He did not call m6, — but you. 
He did not say pride, — but pride. 

For Exercises, see No. 351. 

Note 1. This rule, like the two preceding, is founded on the influence 
which antithetic sense has on the voice. The same change of inflections we 
find in comparison ; as, 

" He is more knave than fool." 

" A countenance more in sorrow than in anger." 

So in the following case of simple contrast, where, in each couplet of anti- 
thetic terms, the former word has the rising inflection. 

Here regard to virtue opposes insensibility to shame ; purity to pollu- 
tion ; integrity to injustice ; virtue to villany ; resolution to rage ; regu- 
larity to riot. The struggle lies between wealth and want ; the dignity 



* Negation alone, not opposed to affirmation, does not by any means always 
take the rising inflection, as Mr. Knowles supposes. The simple particle no, 
when under the emphasis, with the intensive falling slide, is one of the strong- 
est monosyllables in the language. But when negative and affirmative clauses 
come into opposition, I think of no exception to the rule but that mentioned 
under emphatic succession, Rule IX. Note 2. 



TONES AND INFLECTIONS. 



39 



and degeneracy of reason ; the force and the frenzy of the soul ; be- 
tween well-grounded hope and widely- extended despair. 

Note 2. The reader should be apprized here, that the falling slide, being 
often connected with stx-ong emphasis, and beginning on a high and spirited 
note, is liable to be mistaken, by those little acquainted with the subject, for 
the rising slide. If one is in doubt which of the two he has employed on a 
particular word, let him repeat both together, by forming a question, according 
to Rule I., with the disjunctive or; thus, "Did I say go, — or go?" Or let 
him take each example under Rule I., and according to Rule II. form an 
answer echoing the first emphatic word, but changing the inflection ; thus, 
"Will you gd, — or stay? I shall go." "Will you ride, or walk? I shall 
ride." This will give the contrary slides on the same word. 

But as some may be unable still to distinguish the falling slide, confounding 
it, as just mentioned, with the rising inflection, or, on the other hand, with 
the cadence, I observe that the difficulty lies in two things. One is, that the 
slide is not begun so high, and the other, that it is not carried through so 
many notes as it ought to be. I explain this by a diagram, thus : 




to^\?V I shall go to>-\V 



It is sufficiently exact to say, that in reading this properly, the syllables 
without slide may be spoken on one key or monotone. From this key go slides 
upwards to its highest note, and from the same high note stag slides down- 
wards to the key ; and go does the same, in the answer to the question. In 
the second example, the case is entirely similar. But the difficulty with the 
inexpert reader is, that he strikes the downward slide, not above the key, but 
on it, and then slides downwards, just as in a cadence. The faulty manner may 
be represented thus : 



"Will you go to- oftj>- or to- j^ 



I shall go to- ^ 



The other part of the difficulty in distinguishing the falling inflection from 
the opposite, arises from its want of sufficient extent. Sometimes, indeed, the 
voice is merely dropped to a low note, without any slide at all. The best rem- 
edy is, to take a sentence with some emphatic word, on which the intensive 
falling slide is proper, and protract that slide, in a drawling manner, from a 
high note to a low one. This will make its distinction from the rising slide 
very obvious. 

Harmony and emphasis make some exceptions to several of these rules, 
which the brevity of my plan compels me to pass by without notice. 



40 



INFLECTIONS RISING. 



RISING INFLECTION. 



RULE IV. 

84. The pause of suspension, denoting that the sense 
is unfinished, requires the rising inflection.* 

Rem. This rule embraces several particulars, more especially applying to 
sentences of the periodic structure, which consist of several members, but form 
no complete sense before the close. It is a first principle of articulate lan- 
guage, that in such a case, the voice should be kept suspended, to denote con- 
tinuation of sense. 

85. The following are some of the cases to which the rule 
applies. 

(1.) Sentences beginning with a conditional particle or 
clause ; as, 

"If some of the branches be broken off, and thou, being a wild olive- 
tree, wert grafted in among them, and with them partakest of the root 
and fatness of the olive-tree ; boast not against the branches." " As 
face answereth to face in water, so the heart of man to inan."f 

(2.) The case absolute ; as, 

" His father dying, and no heir being left except himself, he succeeded 
to the estate." " The question having been fully discussed, and all ob- 
jections completely refuted, the decision was unanimous." 

(3.) The infinitive mood, with its adjuncts, used as a 
nominative case ; as, 

"To smile on those whom we should censure, and to countenance 
those who are guilty of bad actions, is to be guilty ourselves." "To be 
pure in heart, to be pious and benevolent, constitutes human happiness." 

(4. ) The vocative % case, without strong emphasis, when 
it is a respectful call to attention, expresses no sense com- 

* For Exercises on this Rule, see No. 353, Ex. IX. 

f In what Walker calls the "inverted period," the last member, though not 
essential to give meaning to what precedes, yet follows so closely as not to 
allow the voice to fall till it is pronounced. 

% 1 use this term as better suiting my purpose than that of our grammarians, 
—"nominative independent. 



INFLECTIONS RISING. 41 

pleted, and comes under the inflection of the suspending 
pause ; as, 

" Men, brethren, and fathers, — hearken." " Friends, Romans, coun- 
trymen ! — lend me your ears." 

(5.) The parenthesis commonly requires the same in- 
flection at the close, while the rest of it is often to be 
spoken in the monotone. 

Rem. As an interjected clause, it suspends the sense of the sentence, and 
for that reason only, is pronounced in a quicker and lower voice, the hearer 
being supposed to wait with some impatience for the main thought, while this 
interjected clause is uttered ; as, " Know ye not, brethren, {for I speak to them 
that know the law,) that the lata hath dominion over a man as long as he livethf " 
The most common exceptions, in this case, occur in rhetorical dialogue, where 
narrative and address are mingled, and represented by one voice, and where 
there is frequent change of emphasis. 

The same sort of exception may apply to the general principle 
of this rule whenever one voice is to represent two persons, thus ; 

"If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of 
you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled ; notwith- 
standing ye give them not those things which are needful to the b6dy ; 
what doth it profit ? " 

Here the sense is entirely suspended to the close, and yet the 
clause introduced as the language of another, requires the falling 
slide. 

Another exception, resting on still stronger ground, occurs where an an- 
tithetic clause requires the intensive falling slide on some chief word to de- 
note the true meaning ; as in the following example : " The man who is in 
the daily use of ardent spirit, if he does not become a drunkard, is in danger 
of losing his health and character." In this periodic sentence, the meaning 
is not formed till the close ; and yet the falling slide must be given at the end 
of the second member, or the sense is subverted ; for the rising slide on drunk- 
ard would imply that his becoming such is the only way to preserve health 
and character. 

RULE V. 

86. Tender emotion generally inclines the voice to the 
rising slide.* 

* For Exercises, see No. 354. 
4* 



42 INFLECTIONS RISING. 

87. Grief, compassion, and delicate affection, soften the soul, 
and are uttered in words, invariably with corresponding qualities 
of voice. The passion, and the appropriate signs by which it is 
expressed, are so universally conjoined, that they cannot be sep- 
arated. It would shock the sensibility of any one to hear a mother 
describe the death of her child with the same intonations which 
belong to joy or anger. And equally absurd would it be for a 
general to assume the tones of grief, in giving his commands at 
the head of an army. 

88. Hence the vocative case, when it expresses either affection 
or delicate respect, takes the rising slide ; as, 

"Jesus saith unto her, Mary." "Jesus saith unto Mm, Thomas." 
* Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet." " Sirs, what must I do to be 
saved ? " 

This inflection prevails in the reverential language of prayer. 

89. The same slide prevails in pathetic poetry. Take an ex- 
ample from Milton's lamentation for the loss of sight : 

"Thus with the year 
Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark 
Surround me ." 

90. Another example may be seen in the beautiful little poem 
of Cowper, on the receipt of his mother's picture : 

" My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
"Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 
I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow away, 
And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu." 

In both these examples, the voice preserves the rising slide, till, 
in the former, we come to the last member, beginning with the 
disjunctive but, — where it takes the falling slide on cloud and 



INFLECTIONS— -FALLING. 43 

dark. In the latter, the slide does not change till the cadence 
requires it, on the last word, adieu. 

RULE VI. 

91. The rising slide is commonly used at the last 
pause but one in a sentence. The reason is, that the ear 
expects the voice to fall when the sense is finished ; and 
therefore it should rise* for the sake of variety and har- 
mony, on the pause that precedes the cadence* 

EXAMPLE. 

" The minor longs to be at age, then to be a man Of business, then to 
make up an estate, then to arrive at honors, then to retire." " Our 
lives (says Seneca) are spent either in doing nothing at all, or in doing 
nothing to the purpose, or in doing nothing that we ought to do." 

Falling Inflection. 

Rem. The general principle suggested under Rule V. is to be borne in mind 
here. In the various classes of examples under the falling inflection, the 
reader will perceive the prevailing characteristic of decision and force. So in- 
stinctively does bold and strong passion express itself by this turn of voice, 
that, just so far as the falling slide becomes intensive, it denotes emphatic 
force. Rules VIII. IX. and X. will illustrate this remark. 

RULE VII. 

92. The indirect question, or that which is not 
answered by yes or no, has the falling inflection ; and 
its answer has the same.* 

93. This sort of question begins with interrogative pronouns 
and adverbs. Thus Cicero bears down his adversary by the com- 
bined force of interrogation and emphatic series. 

" This is an open, honorable challenge to you. "Why are you silent ? 
Why do you prevaricate ? I insist upon this point ; I urge you to it ; 
press it ; require it ; nay, I demand it of you." 

* For Exercises, see No. 355. 



44 INFLECTIONS PALLING. 

So in his oration for Ligarius : 

" What, Tubero, did that naked swdrd of yours mean, in the battle of 
Pharsalia ? At whose breast was its point aimed ? What was the 
meaning of your arms, your spirit, your eyes, your hands, your ardor of 
soul ? " 

94. In conversation there are a few cases where the indirect 
question has the rising slide ; as when one partially hears some 
remark, and familiarly asks, What is that ? Who is that ? 

95. The answer to the indirect question, according to the 
general rule, has the falling slide, though at the expense of har- 
mony ; as, 

" Who say the people that I am ? They answering said, John the Bap- 
tist ; but some say, Elias ; and others say that one of the old prophets is 
risen again." "Where is boasting, then ? It is excluded." " Who first 
seduced them to that foul revolt ? The infernal serpent." * 

RULE VIII. 

96. The language of authority, and of surprise, is com- 
monly uttered with the falling inflection. 

97. Bold and strong passion so much inclines the voice to this 
slide, that in most of the cases hereafter to be specified, emphatic 
force is denoted by it.f 

98. The imperative mood, as used to express the commands 
of a superior, denotes that energy of thought which usually re- 
quires the falling slide. Thus Milton supposes Gabriel to speak, 
at the head of his radiant files : 

" Uzziel ! half these draw off and coast the south, 
With strictest watch ; these other, wheel the north." 

* The want of distinction in elementary books, between that sort of ques- 
tion which turns the voice upwards, and that which turns it downwards, must 
have been felt by every teacher even of children. This distinction is scarcely 
noticed by the ancients. Augustine, in remarking on the false sense some- 
times given to a passage of Scripture by false pronunciation, says, " The an- 
cients called that question interrogation, which is answered by yes or no ; and 
that percontation, which admits of other answers." Quinctilian, however, says 
the two terms were used indifferently. 

t For Exercises, see No. 356. 



INFLECTIONS — FALLING. 45 

Ithuriel and Zephon ! with winged speed 

Search, through, this garden ; leave unsearched no n6ok. 

This evening from the sun's decline arrived 

"Who tells of some infernal spirit seen, 

Hitherward bent : — 

Such where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring." 

Thus, in the battle of Rokeby, young Redmond addressed his 
soldiers : — 

" Up, comrades ! up — in Rokeby's halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls." 

99. No language surpasses the English in the spirit and viva- 
city of its imperative mood and vocative case. These often are 
found together in the same address ; and, when combined with 
emphasis, separately or united, they have the falling slide, and 
great strength. 

100. Denunciation and reprehension, on the same prin- 
ciple, commonly require the falling inflection ; as, 

" Woe unto you, Pharisees ! for ye love the uppermost seats in the 
synagogues. "Woe unto you, lawyers ! for ye have taken away the key of 
knowledge." " But God said unto him, Thou fool ! this night thy soul 
shall be required of thee." "But Jesus said, Why tempt ye me, ye 
hypocrites ! " " Paul said to Elymas, O full of all subtlety and all mis- 
chief ! thou child of the devil, thou enemy of all righteousness ! " 

In the beginning of Shakspeare's Julius Csesar, Marullus, a pat- 
riotic Roman, finding in the streets some peasants, who were 
keeping holiday for Caesar's triumph over the liberties of his 
country, accosted them in this indignant strain : — 

" Hence ! — home, you idle creatures, get you home ; 
You blocks, you stones ! you worse than senseless things ! " 

This would be tame indeed, should we place the unemphatic, 
rising slide on these terms of reproach, thus : — 

" You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! " 

The strong reprehension of our Savior, addressed to the 
tempter, would lose much of its meaning, if uttered with the 
gentle, rising slide, thus : " Get thee behind me, Satan.'''' But it 



46 INFLECTIONS FALLING. 

becomes very significant, with the emphatic downward inflection : 
" Get thee behind me, Satan.'''' 

101. Exclamation, when it does not express tender 
emotion, nor ask a question, inclines to adopt the falling 
slide. 

102. Terror expresses itself in this way. Thus the appear- 
ance of the ghost in Hamlet produces the exclamation, — 

" v Angels ! and ministers of grace, — defend us." * 
Exclamation, denoting surprise, or reverence, or distress, — or 
a combination of these different emotions, — generally adopts the 
falling slide, modified indeed by the degree of emotion. For this 
reason, I suppose that Mary, weeping at the sepulchre, when she 
perceived that the person whom she had mistaken for the gar- 
dener was the risen Savior himself, exclaimed with the tone of 
reverence and surprise, " Rabboni ! " And the same inflection 
probably was used by the leprous men when they cried, " Jesus, 
Master ! have mercy on us ; " instead of the colloquial tone, " Jesus, 
Master,'''' which is commonly used in reading the passage, and 
which expresses nothing of the distress and earnestness which 
prompted this cry. These examples are distinguished from the 
vocative case, when it merely calls to attention or denotes 
affection. 

RULE IX. 

103. Emphatic succession of particulars requires the 
falling slide.f 

104. The reason is, that a distinctive utterance is necessary to 
fix the attention on each particular. The figure asyndeton, or 

* The city watch is startled, not so much by the tcords of distress that echo 
through the stillness of midnight, as by the tones that denote the reality of 
that distress, — "Help! — murder! — help!" The man whose own house is 
in flames, cries, "Fire ! fire ! " It is only from the truant boy in the streets 
that we hear the careless exclamation — " Fire, fire." 

f The loose sentence, though it does not strictly belong to this rule, com- 
monly coincides with it ; because in the appended member or members, marked 
by the semicolon or colon, a complete sense, at each of these pauses, is so far 
expressed as generally to admit the falling slide. 



INFLECTIONS FALLING. 47 

omission of copulatives, especially when it respects clauses, and 
not single words, belongs to this class ; as, 

14 Go and tell John what things ye have seen and heard ; the blind see, 
the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are 
raised, to the poor the gospel is preached." " Charity suffereth long, and 
is kind ; charity cnvieth not ; charity vaunteth not itself ; is not puffed 
up ; doth not behave itself unseemly ; seeketh not her own ; is not 
easily provoked ; thinketh no evil." " Thrice was I beaten with rods ; 
once was I stoned ; thrice I suffered shipwreck ; a night and a day have 
I been in the deep." 

In each of these examples, all the pauses, except the last but 
one, (for the sake of harmony,) require the downward slide. The 
polysyndeton, requiring a still more deliberate pronunciation, 
adopts the same slide ; as, 

44 Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all 
thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and thy 
neighbor as thyself." 

Note 1. "When the principle of emphatic series interferes with that of the 
suspending slide, one or the other prevails, according to the nature of the 
case. When the structure is hypothetical, and yet the sense is such, and so 
far formed as to admit emphasis, the falling slide prevails, thus : — 

"And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mys- 
teries, and all knowledge ; and though I have all faith, so that I could 
remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing." 

But when the series begins a sentence, and each particular hangs on some- 
thing still to come, for its sense, there is so little emphasis that the rising 
slide, denoting suspension, is required, thus : — 

44 The pains of getting, the fear of losing, and the inability of enjoying 
his wealth, have made the miser a mark of satire, in all ages." 

Note 2. The principles of emphatic series may form an exception to 
Rule III. ; as, 

44 We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not 
in despair ; p6rsecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed." 

Note 3. Emphatic succession of particulars grows intensive as it goes on ; 
that is, on each succeeding emphatic word the slide has more stress, and a 
higher note, than on the preceding, thus : — 

44 1 tell you, though x^, though all the ^s.*£ though an angel 

should declare the truth of it, I could not believe it." 



48 INFLECTIONS FALLING. 

The rising slide, on the contrary, as it occurs in an emphatic series of direct 
questions, rises higher on each particular, as it proceeds. 

RULE X. 

105. Emphatic repetition requires the falling slide.* 
Whatever inflection is given to a word in the first in- 
stance, when that word is repeated with stress, it de- 
mands the falling slide. Thus, in Julius Cassar, Cassius 
says, — 

" You wrong me every way, you wrdng me, Brutus." 

The word wrong is slightly emphatic, with the falling slide, in the first 
clause ; but in the second, it requires a double or triple force of voice, with 
the same slide on a higher note, to express the meaning strongly. But the 
principle of this rule is more apparent still, when the repeated word changes 
its inflection. Thus I ask one at a distance, "Are you going to Bdston?" If 
he tell me that he did not hear my question, I repeat it with the other slide— 
" Are you going to Bostoti ?"f 

Note. The common method of reading our Savior's parable of the wise and 
the foolish builder, with the rising slide on both parts, is much less impressive 
than that which adopts the falling slide, with increase of stress on the series of 
particulars as repeated. 

" Whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will 
liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock, and the 
rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon 
that house, and it fell not, — for it was founded upon a rock. And every 
one that heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be 
likened unto a foolish man, that built his house upon the sand ; and the 
rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon 
that house, and it fell ; — and great was the fall of it." 

RULE XI. 

106. The final pause requires the falling slide. 

* For Exercises, see 3-58, Ex. XV. 

f In colloquial language, the point I am illustrating is quite familiar to 
every ear. The teacher calls the pupil by name in the rising inflection, and, not 
being heard, repeats the call in the falling. The answer to such a call, if 
it is a mere response, is, "Sir;" — if it expresses doubt, it is, "Sir." A 
question that is not understood is repeated with a louder voice, and a change 
of slide : " Is this your book f Is this your bbokf " Little children, with their 
first elements of speech, make this distinction perfectly. 



INFLECTIONS FALLING. 49 

107. That dropping of the voice which denotes the sense to be 
finished, is so commonly expected by the ear, that the worst read- 
ers make a cadence of some sort at the close of a sentence. 

108. In respect to this, some general faults may be guarded 
against, though it is not possible to tell in absolute terms what a 
good cadence is ; because, in different circumstances, it is mod- 
ified by different principles of elocution. 

109. The most common fault, in the cadence of bad speakers, 
consists in dropping the voice too uniformly to the same note ; 
the next, consists in dropping it too much ; the next, in drop- 
ping it too far from the end of the sentence, or beginning the 
cadence too soon ; and another still consists in that feeble and 
indistinct manner of closing sentences, which is .common to men 
unskilled in managing the voice. 

110. We should take care also to mark the difference between 
that downward turn of the voice which occurs at the falling slide 
in the middle of a sentence, and that which occurs at the close. 
The latter is made on a lower note, and, if emphasis is absent, 
with less spirit than the former ; as, " This heavenly Benefactor 
claims, not the homage of our lips, but of our hearts ; and who 
can doubt that he is entitled to the homage of our hearts 1 " Here 
the word hearts has the same slide in the middle of the sentence 
as at the close ; though it has a much lower note in the latter 
case than in the former. 

111. It must be observed, too, that the final pause does not 
always require a cadence. When the strong emphasis with the 
falling slide comes near the end of a sentence, it turns the voice 
upwards at the close ; as, " If we have no regard to our own char- 
acter, we ought to have some regard to the character of others." 
" You were paid to fight against Alexander, not to rail at him." 
This is a departure from a general rule of elocution ; but it is only 
one case among many, in which emphasis asserts its supremacy 
over any other principle that interferes with its claims. 

112. Indeed, any one who has given but little attention to this 
point, would be surprised to observe accurately, how often sen- 
tences are closed, in conversation, without any proper cadence ; 

5 



50 CIRCUMFLEX. 

the voice being carried to a high note on the last word, some- 
times with the falling, and sometimes with the rising slide. 

Circumflex. 
RULE XII. 

113. The circumflex occurs chiefly where the lan- 
guage is either hypothetical or ironical. 

114. The most common use of it is to express indefinitely or 
conditionally some idea that is contrasted with another idea ex- 
pressed or understood, to which the falling slide belongs, thus : 
" Hume said he would go twenty miles to hear Wliitejield preach." 
The contrast suggested by the circumflex here is, though he 
would take no pains to hear a common preacher. You ask a 
physician concerning your friend who is dangerously sick, and 
receive this reply, " He is better.'''' The circumflex denotes only 
a partial, doubtful amendment, and implies, but he is still dan- 
gerously sick. The same turn of voice occurs in the following 
example, on the word importunity : — 

" Though, he will not rise and give him, because he is his fri&nd, yet 
because of his importunity ', he will rise and give him as many as he 
needeth." 

115. The circumflex, when indistinct, coincides nearly with 
the rising slide ; when distinct, it denotes qualified affirmation, 
instead of that which is positive, as marked by the falling slide. 
This hint suggests a much more perfect rule than that of Walker, 
by which to ascertain the proper slide under the emphasis. See 
Emphatic Inflection, p. 59. 



ACCENT. 



51 



CHAPTER IV, 



ACCENT. 



116. Accent is a stress laid on particular syllables, to 
promote harmony and distinctness of articulation. 

117. The syllable on which accent shall be placed, is deter- 
mined by custom ; and that without any regard to the meaning of 
words, except in these few cases. 

118. First, where the same word in form, has a different sense, 
according to the seat of the accent. This may be the case while 
the word continues to be the same part of speech ; as, des'ert, (a 
wilderness,) desert', {merit;) to con'jure, (to use magic,) to con- 
jure', (to entreat.) Or the accent may distinguish between the 
same word used as a noun or an adjective ; as, com'pact, (an 
agreement,) compact', (close;) min'ute, (of time,) minute', (small.) 
Or it may distinguish the noun from the verb, thus : — 



Ab's tract, 


to abstract'; 


ex'port, 


to export'; 


com'pound, 


to compound'; 


ex'tract, 


to extract'; 


com'press, 


to compress'; 


im'port, 


to import'; 


con'cert, 


to concert'; 


in'cense, 


to incense'; 


con/duct, 


to conduct'; 


in'sult. 


to insult'; 


con'fine, 


to confine'; 


obj 'ect, 


to object'; 


con/tract, 


to contract' ; 


pres'ent, 


to present'; 


con'trast, 


to contrast' ; 


proj'ect, 


to project'; 


con'vert, 


to convert'; 


reb'el, 


to rebel'; 


con'vict, 


to convict'; 


tor'ment, 


to torment'; 


di'gest, 


to digest'; 


trans'port, 


to transport'. 



119. The province of emphasis is so much more important 
than that of accent, that the customary seat of the latter is trans- 
posed in any case where the claims of emphasis require it. This 
takes place chiefly in words which have a partial sameness in 
form, but are contrasted in sense. 



EXAMPLES. 

He must increase, but I must decrease. 

This corruptible must put on iwcorruption ; and this mental must put 
on immortality. 



52 



EMPHASIS. 



"What fellowship hath. W^Ateousness with unrighteousness ? 

Consider well what you have ddne, and what you have left undone. 

He that ascended is the same as he that Ascended. 

The difference, in this case, is no less than betwixt decency and inde- 
cency ; betwixt religion and irreligion. 

In the suitableness, or unsuitableness, the proportion or disproportion 
of the affection to the object which excites it, consists the propriety or 
impropriety of the consequent action.* 

120. The accented syllable of a word is always ut- 
tered with a louder note than the rest. 

121. When the syllable has the rising inflection, the 
slide continues upwards till the word is finished ; so that, 
when several syllables of a word follow the accent, they 
rise to a higher note than that which is accented ; and 
when the accented syllable is the last in a word, it is also 
the highest. 

122. But when the accented syllable has the falling 
slide, it is always struck with a higher note than any 
other syllable in that word ; as, 

"Did he dare to propose such interrogatories ? " 



CHAPTER V. 

EMPHASIS. 

123. Emphasis is governed by the laws of sentiment, being 
inseparably associated with thought and emotion. It is the most 
important principle, by which elocution is related to the operations 
of mind.t Hence, when it stands opposed to the claims of custom 
or of harmony, these always give way to its supremacy. 

* In this last example, the latter accented -word, in each of the couplets, 
perhaps would be more exactly marked with the circumflex ; the same case 
occurs often, as in p. 49, last paragraph. 

f The teacher, who would give his pupils a just emphasis and modulation, 



EMPHATIC STRESS. 



53 



124. The accent, which custom attaches to a word, emphasis 
may supersede ; as we have seen under the foregoing article. 
Custom requires a cadence at the final pause, but emphasis often 
turns the voice upwards at the end of a sentence ; as, 

" You were paid to fight against Alexander, not to rail at him." 

See 106. Harmony requires the voice to rise at the pause oefore 
the cadence ; whereas emphasis sometimes prescribes the falling 
slide at this pause, to enforce the sense ; as, 

"Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven." 

Now, I presume that every one, who is at all accustomed to 
accurate observation on this subject, must be sensible how very 
little this grand principle is regarded in forming our earliest habits 
of elocution ; and therefore how hopeless are all efforts to cor- 
rect what is wrong in these habits, without a just knowledge of 
emphasis. 

125. Emphasis is a distinctive utterance of words, 
which are especially significant, with such a degree and 
kind of stress, as conveys their meaning in the best 
manner. 

According to this definition, I would include the whole 
subject under emphatic stress and emphatic inflection. 

Emphatic Stress.* 

126. This consists chiefly in the loudness of the note, 
but includes also the time in which important words are 
uttered. 

127. Both these are commonly united ; but the latter, since it 
will require some notice when I come to speak of rate and em- 
phatic pause, may be dismissed here, as to its separate considera- 
tion, with a single remark. A good reader or speaker, when he 

must unceasingly impress on them the importance of entering with feeling 
into the sentiments which they are to utter. 
* For Exercises, see 367, Ex. XV. 
5* 



54 EMPHATIC STRESS. 

utters a word on which the meaning of a sentence is suspended, 
spontaneously dwells on that word, or gives it more time, according 
to the intensity of its meaning. 

128. The significance and weight which he thus attaches to 
words that are important, is a very different thing from the 
abrupt and jerking emphasis which is often witnessed in a bad 
delivery. Bearing this fact in mind, we may proceed to consider, 
more particularly, why emphatic stress belongs to some words, 
and not to others. 

129. Emphatic force is to be governed solely by sense ; and 
the word, to whatever part of speech it belongs, which renders but 
little aid in forming the sense, should be passed over with but 
little stress of voice. It is indeed generally true that a subordi- 
nate rank belongs to particles, and to all those words which merely 
express some circumstance of a thought. 

130. And when a word of this sort is raised above its relative 
importance, by an undue stress in pronunciation, we perceive a 
violence done to other words of more significance ; and we hardly 
admit even the metrical accent of poetry to be any excuse for so 
obvious an offence against propriety. One example of this sort we 
have in the common manner of reading this couplet of Watts : — 

" Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive, 
Let a repenting rebel live." 

This stress upon a, in the second line, shows the absence of 
just discrimination in the reader. 

131. But to show that emphasis attaches itself not to the part of 
speech, but to the meaning of a word, let one of these little words 
become important in sense, and then it demands a correspondent 
stress of voice. 

132. ¥e have an example in the two following sentences, ending with the 
particle so. In one it is used incidentally, and is barely to be spoken dis- 
tinctly. In the other it is the chief word, and must be spoken forcibly. " And 
Saul said unto Michal, Why hast thou deceived me so ? " " Then said the 
high priest, Are these things so? " 

133. Another example may show how a change of stress on a particle 
changes the entire sense of a sentence. In the narrative of Paul's voyage from 
Troas to Jerusalem, it is said, " Paul had determined to sail by Ephesus." 



EMPHATIC STRESS. 55 

This sentence, with a moderate stress on Ephesus, implies that the apostle 
meant to stop there ; just as a common phrase, " The ship is going to Holland 
by Liverpool," implies that she will touch at the latter place. 

Now, what was the fact in the case of Paul ? The historian says, u he hasted 
to be at Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost." Therefore he could not afford 
the time it would require to visit his dear friends, the Ephesian church, and he 
chose to pursue his voyage without seeing them. But can the words be made 
to express this sense ? Perfectly ; and that with only an increase of stress on 
one particle — "Paul had determined to sail by Ephesus." 

134. Another example shows us a succession of small words raised to im- 
portance, by becoming peculiarly significant. In Shakspeare's Merchant of 
Yenice, Bassanio had received a ring from his wife, with the strongest protes- 
tation that it should never part from his finger ; but in a moment of generous 
gratitude for the preservation of his friend's life, he forgot this promise, and 
gave the ring to the officer to whose kind interposition he ascribed that de- 
liverance. "With great mortification at the act, he afterwards made the fol- 
lowing apology to his wife, an unemphatic pronunciation of which leaves it 
scarcely intelligible ; while distinct emphasis on a few small words gives it 
precision and vivacity, thus : — 

"If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
"When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
You would abate the strength of your displeasure." 

135. In the case that follows, too, we see how the meaning of a sentence 
often depends on the manner in which we utter but one word: " One of the 
servants of the high priest, (being his kinsman whose ear Peter cut off,) 
saith, Did not I see thee in the garden with him ? " Now, if we utter this, 
as most readers do, with a stress on kinsman, and a short pause after it, we 
make the sentence affirm that the man whose ear Peter cut off was kinsman 
to the high priest, which was not the fact. But a stress upon his, makes this 
servant kinsman to another man, who received the wound. 

136. One more example may suffice, on this point. When our Savior said 
to Peter, " Lovest thou me more than these ? " he probably referred to 
the confident professions of his own attachment to Christ, which the apostle 
had presumed would remain unshaken, though that of his brethren should 
fail ; but which profession he had wofully violated in the hour of trial. If this 
is the spirit of the question, it is a tender but severe admonition, which would 
be expressed by emphasis, thus : " Lovest thou me, more than these?" that 
is, more than thy brethren love me ? 

137. But respectable interpreters have supposed the question to refer to 
Peter's affection merely, and to contrast two objects of that affection ; and 
this would change the emphasis thus: "Lovest thou me more than these? " 
that is, more than thou lovest thy brethren? 



56 EMPHATIC STRESS. 

138. These illustrations show that the principle of emphatic 
stress is perfectly simple ; and that it falls on a particular word, 
not chiefly because that word belongs to one or another class in 
grammar, but because, in the present case, it is important in sense. 
To designate the words that are thus important, by the action of 
the voice in emphasis, is just what the etymological import of this 
term implies, namely, to show, to point out, to make manifest. 

139. But further to elucidate a subject, that has been treated 
with much obscurity, emphatic stress may be distinguished into 
that which is absolute, and that which is antithetic or relative. 

Absolute Emphatic Stress. 

140. Walker, and others who have been implicitly guided by 
his authority, without examination, lay down the broad position, 
that emphasis always implies antithesis ; and that it can never be 
proper to give emphatic stress to a word, unless it stands opposed 
to something in sense. Accordingly, to find the emphasis in a 
sentence, the direction given is, to take the word we suppose to 
be emphatical, and try if it will admit of those words being sup- 
plied, which antithesis would demand ; and if the words thus sup- 
plied agree with the meaning of the writer, the emphasis is laid 
properly, — otherwise, improperly. 

EXAMPLE. 

Exercise and temperance strengthen even an indifferent constitution. 
The emphatic word here suggests, as the antithetic clause to 
be supplied, — not merely a good constitution; and this accords 
with the meaning of the writer. 

141. Now, the error of these treatises is, that what in truth is only one im- 
portant ground of emphasis, is made the sole and the universal ground. In- 
deed, if it were admitted that there is no emphasis without antithesis, it 
would by no means follow (as I shall show under emphatic inflection) that all 
cases of opposition in thought are to be analyzed in the mode above proposed. 

142. But the principle assumed cannot be admitted ; for to say that there 
is no absolute emphasis, is to say that a thought is never important, considered 
by itself; or that the figure of contrast is the only way in which a thought can 
be expressed with force. The theory which supposes this, is too narrow to 
correspond with the philosophy of elocution. ' 



RELATIVE STRESS. 57 

143. Emphasis is the soul of delivery, because it is the most 
discriminating mark of emotion. Contrast is among the sources 
of emotion ; and the kind of contrast really intended by Walker 
and others, namely, that of affirmation and negation, it is pecu- 
liarly the province of emphasis to designate. 

144. But this is not the whole of its province. There are 
other sources, besides antithetic relation, from which the mind 
receives strong and vivid impressions, which it is the office of 
vocal language to express. Thus exclamation, apostrophe, and 
bold figures in general, denoting high emotion, demand a corre- 
spondent force in pronunciation ; and that too in many cases where 
the emphatic force laid on a word is absolute, because the thought 
expressed by that word is forcible of itself, without any aid from 
contrast. Of this the reader may be satisfied by turning to 96, 
97, and noting such examples as these : — 

x Up ! comrades, — up ! 

"Woe unto you, Pharisees ! 

Hhice! — home, you idle creatures — 

' Angels ! and ministers of grace, — defend us. 

145. Now, in such a case, we may speculate on the emphatic force of the 
exclamation, and " try if the sense will admit some antithetic clause to be 
supplied." But it is mere trifling. The truth is, when strong passion speaks, 
it speaks strongly, and if no untoward habit intervenes, speaks with just that 
degree and kind of stress which the passion itself demands. 

Antithetic or Relative Stress. 

146. Though we cannot consider opposition in sense as the 
exclusive ground of strong emphasis, it is doubtless a more com- 
mon one than any other. The principle on which the stress 
depends, in this case, will be evident from a few examples : — 

Study, not so much to shoto knowledge as to acquire it. 

He that cannot bear a jest, should not make one. 

It is not so easy to hide one's faults, as to mend them. 

We think less of the injuries we do, than of those we suffer. 

It is not so difficult to talk well, as to live well. 

"We must take heed not only to what we say, but to what we do. 

147. When the antithetic terms in a sentence are both ex- 



OO RELATIVE STRESS. 

pressed, the mind instantly perceives the opposition between them, 
and the voice as readily marks the proper distinction. But when 
only one of these terms is expressed, the other is to be made out 
by reflection ; and in proportion to the ease or difficulty with 
which this antithetic relation is perceived by the mind, the em- 
phatic sense is more or less vivid. 

148. On this principle, when a word expresses one part of a 
contrast, while it only suggests the other, that word must be 
spoken with force adapted to its peculiar office ; and this is the 
very case where the power of emphasis rises to its highest point. 

149. This part of the subject, too, may be rendered more intelligible by a few 
examples. 

Shakspeare's Julius Caesar furnishes several -which are sufficiently appro- 
priate. In the scene betwixt Brutus and Cassius, the latter says, — 

" I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart" 

Here the antithetic terms gold and heart being both expressed, a common 
emphatic stress on these makes the sense obvious. But in the following case 
only one part of the antithesis is expressed. Brutus says, — 

"You wronged yourself, to write in such a case." 

The strong emphasis on yourself, implies that Cassius thought himself injured 
by some other person. Accordingly we see in the preceding sentence his 
charge against Brutus, — " You have wronged me." 
Again, Brutus says to Cassius, — 

" You have done that you should be sorry for." 

"With a slight stress upon sorry, this implies that he had done wrong ; but 
suggests nothing of the antithetic meaning, denoted by the true emphasis, 
thus : — 

" You have done that you should be sorry for." 

This emphasis on the former word implies, "Not only are you liable to do 
wrong, but you have done so already;" on the latter, it implies, "though 
you are not sorry, you ought to be sorry." This was precisely the meaning 
of Brutus, for he replied to a threat of Cassius, " I may do that I shall be 
sorry for." 

150. One more example from the same source. Marullus, alluding to the 
reverence in which Pompey had been held, says, — 

" And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made a universal shout ? " 

Lay a stress now on his, in the first line, and you make a contrast betwixt the 
emotion felt in seeing other chariots, and in seeing Pompey' s. Lay the stress 



EMPHATIC INFLECTION. 59 

on chariot, and it is not implied that there was any other besides his in Rome ; 
for then the antithesis suggested is, the sight, not of his person merely, but 
of the vehicle in Avhich he rode, produced a shout. 

Emphatic Inflection. 

151. Thus far our view of emphasis has oeen limited to the 
degree of stress with which emphatic words are spoken. But 
this is only a part of the subject. The kind of stress is not less 
important to the sense than the degree. 

152. Let any one glance his eye over the examples of the 
foregoing pages, and he will see that strong emphasis demands, in 
all cases, an appropriate inflection ; and that to change this inflec- 
tion perverts the sense. 

153. This will be perceived at once in the following case: " We must take 
heed not only to what we say, but to what we do," By changing this slide, 
and laying the falling on say, and the rising on do, every ear must feel that 
violence is done to the meaning. So in this case, — 

" The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings," — 

the rising inflection or circumflex on stars, and the falling inflection on our- 
selves, is so indispensable, that no reader of the least taste would mistake the 
one for the other. The fact in these instances, however, is, that wrong inflec- 
tion confounds the true sense, rather than expresses a false one. 

154. Let us then take an example or two in which the whole meaning of a 
sentence depends on the inflection given to a single word. Buchanan, while 
at the University, said in a letter to a Christian friend, — 

" In the retirement of a cdllege, I am unable to suppress evil thoughts." 

Here the emphatic downward slide being given to college, expresses the true 
sense, namely, " How difficult must it be to keep my heart from evil thoughts 
amid the temptations of the world, when I cannot do this even in the retire- 
ment of a college /" But lay the circumflex on college, thus, "In the retire- 
ment of a college, I cannot suppress evil thoughts," and you transform the 
meaning to this : "I cannot suppress evil thoughts here, in retirement, though 
I might perhaps do it amid the temptations of the world." 

155. In the Fair Penitent, Horatio says, — 

" I would not turn aside from my least pleasure, 
Though all thp force were armed to bar my way." 

The circumflex on thy implies sneer and scorn. " I might turn aside for re- 
spectable opposition, but not for such as thine." But the falling slide on thy 



60 EMPHATIC INFLECTION. 

turns contempt into compliment. " I would not turn aside even for thy force, 
great as it is." 

158. One more question remains to be answered : How shall 
we know when an emphatic word demands the rising, and when 
the falling inflection ? A brief reply to this inquiry seems indis- 
pensable, before we drop this part of the subject. 

157. The plain distinction between the rising and the 
falling emphasis, when antithetic relation is expressed or 
suggested, is, the falling denotes positive affirmation, or 
enunciation of a thought with energy ; the rising either 
expresses negation or qualified and conditional affirmation. 

158. In the latter case, the antithetic object, if there is one, may 
be suggested ironically, or hypothetically, or comparatively ; thus, 
Ironically : — 

" They tell us to be moderate ; but they, thly, are to revel in profusion." 

Hypothetically : — 

"If men see our faults, they will talk among themselves, though, we 
refuse to let them talk to us." 

" I see thou hast learned to rail." 

In this latter example, the hypothetical affirmation requires the 
circumflex on the emphasis, while the indefinite antithesis is not 
expressed, as in the preceding example, but suggested — " Thou 
hast learned to rail, if thou hast not learned any thing better than 
this." 

Comparatively : — 

" Satan 

"The tempter, ere the accuser of mankind." 
" The beggar was blind as well as lame" 
"He is more knave than fool." 
" Caesar deserved blame more than fame." 

159. In such a connection of two correlate words, whether in contrast or 
comparison, the most prominent of the two in sense, — that in which the essence 
of the thought lies, — commonly has the strong, falling emphasis ; and that 
which expresses something subordinate or circumstantial, has the rising. The 
same rising or circumflex emphasis prevails where the thought is conditional, 
or something is implied or insinuated, rather than strongly expressed. 



EMPHATIC CLAUSE. 61 

160. The amount is, that generally the weaker emphasis, where there is a 
tender, or conditional, or partial enunciation of thought, requires the voice to 
rise; while the strong emphasis, where the thought is bold, and the language 
positive, adopts the falling slide, except where some counteracting principle 
occurs, as in the interrogative inflection just mentioned. 

161. In closing these remarks on emphatic inflection, the 
reader should be reminded that the distinction suggested (see 
76, 77) between the common and the intensive inflection, applies 
to every part of the subject. As emphasis varies with sentiment 
in degrees of strength, it requires a correspondent difference in 
the force, the elevation of note, and the extent of slide, which 
distinguish important words. 

Emphatic Clause.* 

162. Before I dismiss the article of emphasis, one or two points 
should have some notice, because they belong to the general 
subject, though not distinctly classed under the foregoing heads. 

163. It will be readily perceived that the stress proper to be 
laid on any single word, to denote its importance, depends much 
on the comparative stress with which other words in the same 
sentence are pronounced. A whisper, if it is soft or strong, 
according to sense, may be as truly discriminating as the loudest 
tones. 

164. The voice should be disciplined to this distinction, in 
order to avoid the common fault, which confounds vociferation 
with emphatic expression. 

165. Many, to become forcible speakers, utter the current words of a sen- 
tence in so loud a tone, that the whole seems a mere continuity of strong 
articulate sounds ; or if emphatic stress is attempted on particular words, it is 
done with such violence as to offend against all propriety. This is the declam- 
atory manner. The power of emphasis, when it belongs to single words, de- 
pends on concentration. To extend it through a sentence, is to destroy it. 

166. But there are cases in which more than common stress 
belongs to several words in succession, forming an emphatic clause. 
This is sometimes called general emphasis. In some cases of this 
sort, the several syllables have nearly equal stress ; thus : — 

* For Exercises, see 368, Ex. XVI. 

6 



62 EMPHATIC CLAUSE 



Heaven and earth will witness, 



If — Rome — must — fall — that we are innocent." 

In uttering this emphatic clause, the voice drops its pitch, and proceeds 
nearly in a grave, deliberate monotone. 

167. In other cases, such a clause is to be distinguished from 
the rest of the sentence by a general increase of force ; and yet 
its words retain a relative difference among themselves, in quan- 
tity, stress, and inflection. This appears in the indignant reply of 
the youthful Pitt to his aged accuser in debate : — 

" But youth, it seems, is not my only crime ; I have been accused, — 
of acting a theatrical part." 

And afterwards, arraigning the ministry, he said, — 

" As to the present gentlemen, — I cannot give them my confidence. 
Pardon me, gentlemen, — confidence is a plant o/"slow growth." 

In both these cases, the emphatic thought belongs to the whole 
clause, as marked, requiring a grave under-tone ; but one word in 
each must have more stress than the rest, and a note somewhat 
higher. 

168. The want of proper distinctions as to the emphatic clause, occasioned, 
if I mistake not, the difference of opinion between Garrick and Johnson re- 
specting the seat of emphasis in the ninth commandment — " Thou shalt not 
bear false witness against thy neighbor." Garrick laid the stress on slmlt, to 
express the authority of the precept ; Johnson on not, to express its negative 
character. But clearly both are wrong, for in neither of these respects is this 
command to be distinguished from others with which it is connected. And if 
we place the stress on false or on neighbor, still an antithetic relation is sug- 
gested, which does not accord with the design of the precept. Now, let it be 
observed, that here is a series of precepts forbidding certain sins against man, 
our neighbor. Each of these is introduced with the prohibitory phrase, " Thou 
shalt not," and then comes the thing forbidden ; in the sixth, kill; — in the 
eighth, steal ; — in the ninth, " bear false wil7iess." This shows the point of 
emphatic discrimination. In the latter case, the stress falls not on a single 
word, but on a clause ; the last word of this clause, however, in the present 
case, demanding more stress than either of the others. 

169. One more example may make this last remark still plainer. Suppose 
Paid to have said merely, "I came not to baptize, but to preach." The con- 
trast expressed limits the emphasis to two words. But take the whole sen- 
tence as it is in Paul's language, " I came not to baptize, but to preach the 
gospel ; " — and you have a contrast between an emphatic word, and an em- 
phatic clause. And though the sense is just as before, you must change the 



MODULATION. 63 

stress in this clause from preach to gospel, or you utter nonsense. If you 
retain the stress on preach, the paraphrase is, "I came not to baptize the 
gospel, but to preach the gospel." 

Double Emphasis. 

170. This is always grounded on antithetic relation, 
expressed in pairs of contrasted objects. It will be 
sufficiently illustrated by a very few examples. 

" The young are slaves to novelty, the old to custom." 

" And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but 
considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye ? " 

Rem. In such a reduplication of emphasis, its highest effect is not to be 
expected. In attempting to give the utmost significance to each of the terms 
standing in close succession, we are in danger of diminishing the amount of 
meaning expressed by the whole. The only rule that can be adopted is, so to 
adjust the stress and inflection of voice on the different terms as shall most 
clearly, and yet most agreeably, convey the sense of the entire passage. 



CHAPTER VI. 
MODULATION. 

171. I use this term in the largest sense, as a convenient one to 
denote that variety in managing the voice which appears in the 
delivery of a good speaker. This includes a number of distinct 
topics, which may perhaps with sufficient exactness be brought 
together in one chapter. 

Faults of Modulation. 

1. Monotony. 

172. The remark has been made in a former page, that the 
monotone, employed with skill, in pronouncing a simile, or 
occasionally an elevated or forcible thought, may have great 
rhetorical effect. Its propriety, in such a case, is felt instinctively ; 



64 FAULTS OF MODULATION. 

just as other movements of the voice are felt to be proper, when 
they are prompted by genius and emotion. 

173. But the thing I mean to condemn has no such qualities to 
give it vivacity. It is that dull repetition of sounds on the same 
pitch, and with the same quantity, which the hearers are ready to 
ascribe (and commonly with justice) to the want of spirit in the 
speaker. They easily excuse themselves for feeling no interest in 
what he says, when apparently he feels none himself. Want of 
variety is fatal to vivacity and interest in delivery, on the same 
principle that it is so in all other cases. 

2. Mechanical Variety. 

174. An unskilful reader, perhaps, is resolved to avoid monot- 
ony. In attempting to do this, he may fall into other habits, 
scarcely less offensive to the ear, and not at all more consistent 
with the principles of a just elocution. In uttering a sentence, he 
may think nothing more is necessary, than to employ the greatest 
possible number of notes ; and thus his chief aim is to leap from 
one extreme to another of his voice. In a short time, this attempt 
at variety becomes a regular return of similar notes, at stated 
intervals. 

175. Another defect, of the same sort, arises from an attempt 
to produce variety by a frequent change of stress. The man is 
disgusted with the plodding uniformity that measures out syllables 
and words as a dragoon does his steps. He aims therefore at an 
emphatic manner, which shall give a much greater quantity of 
sound to some words than to others. But here, too, the only ad- 
vantage gained is, that he exchanges an absolute for a relative 
sameness ; for the favorite stress returns periodically, without 
regard to sense. 

176. There is still another kind of this uniform variety, which 
is extremely common at our public schools and colleges, and from 
them is carried into the different departments of public speaking. 
It consists in the habit of striking at a sentence, at the beginning, 
with a high and full voice, which becomes gradually weaker and 
lower, as the sentence proceeds, especially if it has much length, 



MODULATION REMEDIES. 65 

till it is closed, perhaps, with one quarter of the impulse with which 

it commenced. Then the speaker, at the beginning of a new 

sentence, inflates his lungs, and pours out a full volume of sound 

for a few words, sliding downwards again, as on an inclined plane, 

to a feeble close. 

177. Besides the effort at variety, which often produces this fault, it is 
increased, in many cases, by that labor of lungs, and that unskilfulness in 
managing the breath, which attends want of custom in speaking. The man 
who has this habit (and not a few have it, as any one would perceive, who 
should place himself just within hearing distance of twenty public speakers, 
successively) should spare no pains to overcome it, as a deadly foe to vivacity 
and effect in delivery. 

Remedies.* 

178. To find an adequate remedy for any of the above defects 
in modulation, we must enter into the elementary principles of 
delivery. As the meaning of what we read or speak is supposed 
to continually vary, that elocution which best conforms to sense, 
will possess the greatest variety. 

179. The most indispensable attainment, then, towards 
the cure of bad habits in managing the voice, is the spirit 
of emphasis. 

180. Suppose a student of elocution to have a scholastic tone, or some 
other of the faults mentioned above; — teach him emphasis, and you have 
taken the most direct way to remove the defect. 

181. It is difficult to give a particular illustration of my meaning, except by 
the living voice ; but the experiment is worthy of a trial, to see if the faulty 
manner cannot be represented to the eye. Read the following passage from 
the Spectator ; f recollecting, at the beginning of each sentence, to strike 
the words in the largest type, with a high and full voice, gradually sinking 
away in pitch and quantity, as the type diminishes to the close. 

EXAMPLE. 

OUR SIGHT IS THE MOST PERFECT, and most delight. 
FUL, of all our senses. IT EILLS THE MIND WITH THE 

* The measures primarily to be adopted, in regard to these habits, will be 
suggested here, while others, that have an important bearing on the subject, 
will come into view in the following sections. 

t No. 411. 

6* 



66 MODULATION REMEDIE S. 

LARGEST VARIETY OF IDEAS, CONVERSES WITH ITS OBJECTS 
AT THE GREATEST DISTANCE, AND CONTINUES THE LONGEST IN 
ACTION, WITHOUT BEING TIRED OR SATIATED WITH ITS PROPER 
ENJOYMENTS. THE SENSE OF FEELING CAN INDEED GIVE US 
A NOTION OF EXTENSION, SHAPE, AND ALL OTHER IDEAS THAT 
ENTER AT THE EYE, EXCEPT COLORS. AT THE SAME TIME, IT 
IS VERY MUCH CONFINED, IN ITS OPERATIONS, TO THE NUMBER, 
BULK, AND DISTANCE OF ITS PARTICULAR OBJECTS. 

Rem. 1. If rhetoric had a terra something like the diminuendo of musi- 
cians, it might help to designate the fault here represented, consisting in the 
habit of striking sentences with a high and strong note, for a few words, and 
then falling away into a feeble close. 

Rem. 2. If you succeed in understanding the above illustration, then vary 
the trial on the same example, with a view to another fault — the periodic stress 
and tone. Take care to speak the words printed in small capitals with a note 
sensibly higher and stronger than the rest, dropping the voice immediately 
after these elevated words, into an undulating tone, on the following syllables, 
thus : — 

Our sight is the most perfect, and biost delightful of all our 
senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, con- 
verses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the 
longest in action without being tired or satiated with its proper 
enjoyments. The sense of feeling can indeed give us a notion 
of extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, ex- 
cept colors. At the same time, it is very much confined, in its 
operations, to the number, bulk, and distance of its particular 
objects. 

It is necessary now to give this same passage once more, so distinguishing 
the chief words, by the Italic character, as to exhibit the true pronunciation. 

Our sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our 
senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas ; con- 
verses with its objects at the greatest distance ; and continues the 
longest in action, without being tired or satiated with its proper 
enjoyments. The sense of feeling can indeed give us a notion of 
extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, except 
colors. At the same time, it is very much confined, in its opera- 
tions, to the number, hulk, and distance of its particular objects. 
Only two or three of the words, as here marked, require intensive emphasis, 



MODULATION REMEDIES. 67 

and that not of the highest kind ; and yet the student will perceive that a dis- 
criminating stress on the words thus marked, will regulate the voice, of course, 
as to all the rest, and so render a scholastic tone impossible. 

182. But as no word in the foregoing passage is strongly em- 
phatic, my meaning may be more evident from an example or 
two, where a discriminating stress on a single word determines 
the manner in which the following words are to be spoken. 

Take this couplet from Pope, and read it first with the metrical 
accent and tone, thus : — 

" What the weak head, with strongest bias, rules, 
Is pride, the never failing vice of fools." 

Now, let it be observed that in these lines there is really but one emphatic 
word, namely, pride. If we mark this with the strong emphasis, and the fall- 
ing inflection, the following words will of necessity be spoken as they should 
be, dropping a note or two below the key-note of the sentence,* and proceed- 
ing nearly on a monotone to the end, thus : — 

" What the weak head, with strongest bias, rules, 

Is \3 the never foiling vice of fools." 

183. Another example may help to render this more intel- 
ligible. 

"Must we & J^ the author of the public caldm'^y 



A 



Or must we des^^ the author of the public calamities?" 

Note. In pronouncing these examples, which, I trust, need not be further 
explained, some trifling diversities might, doubtless, be observed in different 
readers of equal taste. But if the proper sound is given to the emphatic 
words, all the rest must be spoken essentially as here described. Itfollows that 
the most direct means of curing artificial tones, is to acquire a correct em- 
phasis. 

184. In order to acquire a correct emphasis, another 
attainment seems indispensable, namely, some good degree 
of discrimination as to vocal tones and inflections. 



* By key-note, I mean the prevailing note, that which you hear when a man 
reads aloud in another room, while you cannot distinguish any words that he 
utters. 



68 MODULATION REMEDIES. 

185. This has been more than once adverted to in the fore- 
going pages ; but it is introduced here as inseparably connected 
with a just modulation. That correct emphasis, which is the best 
remedy for perverted habits of voice, is not always a spontaneous 
attendant on good sense and emotion. Its efficacy is often frus- 
trated by the strength of those habits which it might overcome, 
if there were sufficient knowledge of the subject to apply the 
remedy. 

186. There is something of the ludicrous in the attempt to imitate unseemly 
tones in speaking ; and those who are unpractised in it, generally feel reluctant 
to make the attempt at first, especially in the presence of others. For the 
same reason, they are reluctant to have their own faulty manner in reading a 
sentence imitated, or to repeat again and again their own attempts to correct 
it. And some who can imitate a sound immediately after hearing it from 
another voice, suppose this to be the only way in which it can be done. 

187. But let a thousand persons, who understand the English language, 
repeat the familiar question, " Do you expect to go or stay? " — and will not 
every one of the thousand give the same turn of voice on the words in Italics ? 
"Where is the difficulty, then, of placing such marks on these turns of voice, 
that they may be transferred to any other word ? 

188. This simple principle suggested to Walker his notation of sounds for 
the eye ; and, incomplete as it is, something of the kind is so necessary to the 
student of elocution, that without it, the aid of a living teacher cannot supply 
the defect. And in most cases, nothing is wanting to derive advantage from 
such a theory but a little patience and perseverance in its application.* 

* A few years since, I desired a young gentleman to take the following sen- 
tence, — "I tell you, though you, though all the world, though an angel from 
heaven, should declare the truth of it, I could not believe it," — and read it to 
me in four different ways, which I described to him in writing, without making 
with my voice any of the sounds which I wished him to represent. My direc- 
tions were these : — 

1. Read it with monotone. 

2. Without any slide on the emphatic words, raise them one note above the 
key-tone of the sentence, and read the rest in the monotone. 

3. Give the emphatic words the rising slide, through three or four notes above 
the key, and end with the common cadence. 

4. Give the same words the falling slide, with increase of force as you pro- 
ceed ; beginning the slide on you one note above the key, that on tcorld two, 
and that on heaven three. — The young gentleman, without having acquired, so 
far as I knew, any uncommon skill in vocal inflections, at the appointed time 
repeated the passage according to my directions, and most exactly in the man- 
ner I had intended. The last mode of reading is that which I described at 
page 4/ ; and the other three modes I may leave, without further elucidation, 



PITCH OF VOICE. 69 

189. "Without any enthusiastic estimate of the collateral advantages which 
the student of oratory might derive from musical skill, it may be said that the 
same strength, distinctness, smoothness, and flexibility of voice, which music 
both requires and promotes, are directly subservient to the purposes of elocu- 
tion. And at least so much practical Knowledge of music, as readily to mark, 
with the ear and voice, the difference between high and low, strong and feeble 
notes, greatly facilitates that analysis of speaking tones, which enables one to 
understand his own faults and to make such a sound, in a given case, as he 
wishes to make. 

Pitch of Voice. 

190. This is a relative modification of voice ; by 
which we mean that high or loio note, which prevails in 
speaking, and which has a governing influence upon the 
whole scale of notes employed. 

191. In every man's voice, this governing note varies with 
circumstances, but it is sufficiently exact to consider it as three- 
fold ; the upper pitch, used in calling to one at a distance ; the 
middle, used in conversation ; and the lower, used in cadence, or 
in a grave, emphatic under key. 

192. Exertion of voice on the first, exposes it to break ; and 
on the last, renders articulation thick and difficult, and leaves no 
room for compass below the pitch. The middle key, or that 
which we spontaneously adopt in earnest conversation, allows the 
greatest variety and energy in public speaking, though this will 
be raised a little by the excitement of addressing an assembly. 

193. To speak on a pitch much above that of animated con- 
versation, fatigues and injures the lungs ; though this, of all mis- 
takes, is the one into which weak lungs are most likely to fall. 

to those who have the curiosity to engage in such an exercise. The second 
mode, it will be seen, is one species of what is often called the conventicle tone ; 
and another sort of this cant would be represented by reading all the words 
in monotone except the parts in the following specimen printed in Italic, 
which should be raised two notes above the key. " I tell you, tbough you, 
though all the world, though an angel from heaven, should declare the truth 
of it, I could not believe it." Such an exercise might well seem trifling in a 
man of elevated views, were it not important to bring his voice under discipline, 
by analyzing its powers, and that for the purpose of correcting his own faults 
in modulation. 



70 PITCH OF VOICE. 

The speaker, then, by his own experiment, or (if he wants the 
requisite skill) by the aid of some friend, should ascertain the 
middle key of his own voice, and make that the basis of his 
delivery. 

194. "Whether this is high or low, compared with that of another man, is not 
essential, provided it be not in extreme. Among the first secular orators of 
Britain, some have spoken on the grave bass key ; while Pitt's voice, it is said, 
was a full tenor, and Fox's a treble. 

195. The voice that is on a bass key, if clear and well toned, has some ad- 
vantages in point of dignity. But a high tone, uttered with the same effort of 
lungs, is more audible than a low one. Without referring to other proofs of 
this, the fact just now mentioned is sufficient, that we spontaneously raise our 
key in calling to one at a distance ; for the simple reason that we instinctively 
know he will be more likely to hear us in a high note than in a low one. 

196. So universal is this instinct, that we may observe it in very little chil- 
dren, and even in the call and response of the parent bird and her young, and 
in most brute animals that have voice. The same principle, doubtless, ex- 
plains another fact, recently alluded to, that feeble lungs are inclined to a high 
pitch ; this being the effort of weakness, to make up what it lacks in power, 
by elevation of key;*an effort which succeeds perfectly for a few words, but 
produces intolerable fatigue by being continued. 

197. The influence of emotion on the voice, is also among the 
philosophical considerations pertaining to this subject. A man 
under strong intellectual excitement walks with a firmer and 
quicker step than when he is cool ; and the same excitement 
which braces the muscles, and gives energy to the movements of 
the body, has a correspondent effect on the movements of the 
voice. Earnestness in common conversation assumes a higher 
note, as it proceeds, though the person addressed is at no greater 
distance than before. 

198. A practical corollary from these suggestions is, 
that the public speaker should avoid a high pitch, at the 
beginning of his discourse, lest he rise, with the increase 
of interest, to a painful and unmanageable elevation. 

199. Through disregard of this caution, some speakers, of 
warm temperament, sacrifice all command of their voice, as they 
become animated, and rather scream than speak. Blair lays it 
down as a useful rule, in order to be well heard, u to fix our 



QUANTITY. 71 

eye on some of the most distant persons in the assembly, and to 
consider ourselves as speaking to them." But to apply this rule 
to the outset of a discourse, would probably lead nine out of ten, 
among unpractised speakers, to err by adopting too high a pitch. 
Walker, on the other hand, advises to commence " as though 
addressing the persons who are nearest to us." This might lead 
to an opposite extreme ; and the safest general course, perhaps, is 
to adapt the pitch to hearers at a medium distance. 

Quantity. 

200. This term I use not in the restricted sense of 
grammarians and prosodists, but as including both the 
fulness of tone, and the time, in which words and sen- 
tences are uttered. 

201. In theory, perhaps, every one can easily understand, that a sound may 
be either loud or soft, on the same note. The only difference, for example, 
betwixt the sound produced by a heavy stroke and a gentle one, on the same 
bell, is the quantity or momentum. This distinction, as applied to music, is 
perfectly familiar to all acquainted with that art. As applied to elocution, 
however, it is not so easily made ; for it is a common thing for speakers to 
confound high sounds with loud, and low with soft. 

202. Hence we often hear it remarked of one, that he speaks in a low voice, 
when the meaning is, a feeble one ; and, perhaps, if he were told that he is not 
loud enough, he would instantly raise his key, instead of merely increasing his 
quantity on the same note. But skill in modulation requires that these dis- 
tinctions should be practically understood. And if any one, who has given no 
attention to this point, thinks it too easy to demand attention, he may be bet- 
ter satisfied by a single experiment. Let him take this line of Shakspeare, — 

" O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! " — 

an d read it first in a voice barely audible. Then let him read it, again and again, 
on the same pitch, doubling his quantity or impulse of sound at each repeti- 
tion, and he will find that it requires great care and management to do this 
without raising his voica to a higher note. 

203. As it is a prime requisite in a public speaker, that he be 
heard with ease and pleasure, the importance of his being able to 
swell his voice to a loud and full sound, without raising his pitch, 
must be apparent. 

204. As a general rule, that voice is loud enough, which per- 



72 QUANTITY. 

fectly fills the place where we speak ; or, in other words, which 
perfectly reaches the hearers, with a reserve of strength to enforce 
a passage, in which sentiment demands peculiar energy. 

205. If the inquiry be made, On what does strength of voice 
depend ? — I answer, — 

First, it depends primarily on perfect organs of speech. As it 
is important for the professed speaker to know something of these 
wonderful organs, with the preservation and use of which he is so 
much concerned, a brief enumeration of them may be proper 
here. 

206. Of these, the lungs have the first place. Mere vigor in this organ, is 
not, of coarse, attended with vocal power, but the latter cannot exist without 
the former. Other things being equal, he who has the best conformation of 
chest, and the most forcible action of lungs, will have the strongest voice. 
Fishes, and those insects that have no lungs, have no voice. 

207. Next is the trachea, that elastic tube, by which air passes to and from 
the lungs ; to the length of which, in some birds, is ascribed the uncommon 
power of their voice. At the upper end of this is the larynx, a cartilaginous 
box, of the most delicate vibratory power, so suspended by muscles as to be 
easily elevated or depressed. The glottis is a small aperture, (at the top of 
the larynx,) by the dilatation or contraction of which, sound becomes acute or 
more grave. To secure this aperture from injury while food passes over it to 
the stomach, it is closed by a perfect valve, called the epiglottis. 

208. These are organs of sound, but not of speech, without the aid of others 
adapted to articulation — namely, the tongue, the palate, the nostrils^ the lips, 
and teeth. My limits do not allow me to examine minutely the wonderful 
adaptation of these latter organs to their end, nor the mode of their action in 
forming articulate sounds. Such an examination is unnecessary to one who 
has patience to make it himself, — and to others it would be useless. 

209. Secondly, next to the importance of good organs, in 
giving strength of voice, is the proper exercise of these organs.* 

210. The capacity of the lungs to bear the effort of speaking 
with a full impulse, depends much on their being accustomed to 
it. If I were to give directions to the student, as to the means of 

* The habit of speaking gave to the utterance of Garrick so wonderful an 
energy, that even his under key was distinctly audible to ten thousand people. 
In the same way the French missionary Bridaine brought his vocal powers to 
such strength, as to be easily heard by ten thousand persons, in the open air ; 
and twice this number of listening auditors were sometimes addressed by 
Whitefield. 



QUANTITY. 73 

strengthening his voice by exercise, they would be such as 
these : — 

211. Whenever you use your voice on common occasions, use 
as much voice as propriety will permit. The restriction here 
intended must be applied by common sense. 

212. Read aloud, as a stated exercise. This was a daily prac- 
tice of the first statesmen and generals of Rome, even in the 
midst of campaigns and public emergencies ; and it was by such 
a habit of reading and declamation in private, that the sons of 
these men were trained to a bold and commanding oratory. An 
erect, and commonly a standing posture, in such exercises, gives 
the fullest expansion to the chest and lungs. 

213. In public speaking, avoid all improper efforts of the 
lungs. These arise chiefly from speaking on too high a key — a 
fault noticed above ; from extreme anxiety to accommodate de- 
livery to hearers who are partially deaf ; and from attempts to go 
through a long discourse, with such a degree of hoarseness as 
greatly augments the labor of the lungs. 

214. Thirdly, to preserve the lungs, and give strength to the 
vocal powers, it is necessary to avoid those habits by which public 
speakers are often injured ; such as, — 

(1.) Bad attitudes of study, especially of writing, which cramp 
the chest and obstruct the vital functions. 

(2.) Late preparations, by which the effort of public delivery 
immediately succeeds the exhaustion of intense and long-con- 
tinued study. 

(3.) Full meals immediately before, and stimulating drinks 
immediately before or after speaking. 

(4.) Inhaling cold air by conversation, and sudden change of 
temperature, when the lungs are heated by speaking. 

215. Now, the case is summed up in a few words. The public 
speaker needs a powerful voice. The quantity of voice which he 
can employ, — at least can employ with safety, — depends on his 
strength of lungs ; and this again depends on a sound state of 
general health. If he neglects this, all other precautions will be 
useless. 

7 



74 QUANTITY. 

216. But besides strong and feeble tones, as belonging to quan- 
tity, it includes also a proper regard to time. This respects single 
words, clauses, and sentences. No variety of tones could pro- 
duce the thrilling effects of music, if every note were a semibreve. 
So, in elocution, if every word and syllable were uttered with the 
same length, the uniformity would be as intolerable as the worst 
monotony. 

217. This is illustrated in the line which Pope framed purposely to repre- 
sent a heavy movement : — 

" And ten low words oft creep in one dull line." 

The quantity demanded on each of these monosyllabic words renders fluency 
in pronunciation quite impracticable. On the other hand, in a line of poetry, 
which has a regular return of accent on every second or third syllable, we find 
a metrical pronunciation, so spontaneously adopted, as often to require much 
caution, not to sacrifice sense to harmony. 

218. The easy flow of delivery requires that particles, and sub- 
ordinate syllables, should be touched as lightly as is consistent 
with distinctness ; while both sentiment and harmony demand, 
that the voice should throw an increase of quantity upon important 
words by resting on them, or by swell and protraction of sound, 
or both. 

219. But time, in elocution, has a larger application than that 
which respects words and clauses, — I mean that which respects the 
general rate of delivery. In this case, it is not practicable, as in 
music, nor perhaps desirable, to establish a fixed standard, to 
which every reader or speaker shall conform. 

220. The habits of different men may differ considerably in 
rate of utterance, without being chargeable with fault. But I refer 
rather to the difference which emotion will produce, in the rate 
of the same individual. 

221. I have said before, that those passions which quicken or 
retard a man's step in walking, will produce a similar effect on 
his voice in speaking. Narration is equable and flowing ; vehe- 
mence, firm and accelerated ; anger and joy, rapid ; whereas 
dignity, authority, sublimity, awe, — assume deeper tones, and a 
slower movement. Accordingly we sometimes hear a good 



RHETORICAL PAUSE. 75 

reader or speaker, when there is some sudden turn of thought, 
check himself in the full current of utterance, and give indescriba- 
ble power to a sentence, or part of a sentence, by dropping his 
voice, and adopting a slow, full pronunciation. 



Rhetorical Pause. 

222. This has a very intimate relation to the subject of the 
foregoing section. As quantity in music may consist partly of 
rests, so it is in elocution. A suspension of the voice, of proper 
length, and at proper intervals, is so indispensable, that, without 
this, sentiment cannot be expressed impressively, nor even intel- 
ligibly, by oral language. 

223. Rhetorical punctuation has a few marks of its own, as 
the point of interrogation, and of admiration, the parenthesis, and 
the hyphen, all of which denote no grammatical relation, and 
have no established length. And there is no good reason, if such 
marks are used at all, why they should not be rendered more 
adequate to their purpose. 

224. The interrogative mark, for example, is used to denote, not length of 
pause, but appropriate modification of voice, at the end of a question. But it 
happens that this one mark, as now used, represents two things, that are 
exactly contrary to each other. When the child is taught, as he still is in 
many schools, to raise his voice in finishing a question, he finds it easy to do 
so in a case like this : " Will you go to-day ? " — " Are they Hebrews? " But 
when he comes to the indirect question, not answered by yes, or no, his instinct 
rebels against the rule, and he spontaneously reads with the falling slide — 
" Why are you silent f " — " Why do you prevaricate ? " 

225. Now, in this latter case, if the usual mark of interrogation were inverted 
( i ) when its office is to turn the voice downwards, it would be discriminating 
and significant of its design. Nor would this discrimination require rhetorical 
skill in a printer. It would give him far less difficulty, than to learn the 
grammatical use of the semicolon. The same remarks apply to the note of 
exclamation. 

226. As to the adjustment of pauses, to allow the speaker opportunity for 
drawing his breath, the difficulty seems to have been much overrated by writers 
and teachers. From my own experience and observation, I am inclined to 
think that no directions are needed on this point, and that the surest way to 
make even the youngest pupil breathe at the proper time, is to let him 
alone. 



76 RHETORICAL PAUSE. 

227. For the sake of those who feel any apprehension on this subject, it may 
be proper to say, that the opportunities for taking breath in the common cur- 
rent of delivery, are much more frequent than one might suppose, who has not 
attended to this matter. There is no grammatical relation of words so close, 
as utterly to refuse a pause between them, except the article and noun, the 
preposition and noun, and the adjective and noun, in their natural order. 

228. Supposing the student to be already familiar with the common doctrine 
of punctuation, it is not my design to discuss it here ; nor even to dwell upon 
the distinction between grammatical and rhetorical pauses. All that is 
necessary, is to remark distinctly, that visible punctuation cannot be regarded 
as a perfect guide to quantity, any more than to inflections. Often the voice 
must rest where no pause is allowed in grammar ; especially does this happen 
when the speaker would fix attention on a single word, that stands as imme- 
diate nominative to a verb. A few examples may make this evident. 

" Industry is the guardian of innocence." 
" Prosperity gains friends, adversity tries them." 
" Some place the bliss in action, some in ease ; 
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these." 

" Mirth I consider as an act, cheerfulness as a habit of the mind. Mirth 
is short and transient, cheerfulness fixed and permanent. Mirth is like a 
flash of lightning that glitters for a moment ; cheerfulness keeps up a 
kind of daylight in the mind." 

Here the words in Italic take no visible pause after them, without violence 
to grammatical relation. But the ear demands a pause after each of these 
words, which no good reader will fail to observe. 

229. The same principle extends to the length of pauses. The comma, when 
it simply marks grammatical relation, is very short, as, " He took with him 
Peter, and James, and John, his disciples." But when the comma is used in 
language of emotion, though it is the same pause to the eye, it may suspend 
the voice much longer than in the former ease ; as in the solemn and deliberate 
call to attention — " Men, brethren, and fathers, hearken." 

230. This leads me to the chief point which I had in view 
under this head — the emphatic pause. Garrick employed this on 
the stage, and Whitefield in the pulpit, with great effect. It occurs 
sometimes before, but commonly after, a striking thought is uttered, 
which the speaker thus presents to the hearers, as worthy of 
special attention, and which he seems confidently to expect will 
command assent, and be fixed in the memory by a moment of 
uninterrupted reflection. 

231. More commonly such a thought as admits the emphatic 
pause, drops the voice to a grave under key, in the manner de- 



COMPASS OF VOICE. 77 

scribed at the close of the last article. Sometimes it breaks out 
in the figure of interrogation, with a higher note, and the eye 
fixed on some single hearer. 

232. To produce its proper effect, it must spring from such a 
reality of feeling as defies all cold imitation ; and this feeling 
never fails to produce, while the voice is suspended on the em- 
phatic pause, a correspondent significance of expression in the 
countenance. 

233. There is still another pause, so important in delivery, as 
to deserve a brief notice ; I mean that with which a good speaker 
marks the close of a paragraph, or division of a discourse. The 
attempt to keep up an assembly to one pitch of interest, and that 
by one unremitted strain of address, is a great mistake, though a 
very common one, as it respects both the composition and the 
delivery of a discourse. 

234. It results from principles with which every public speaker 
ought to be acquainted, that high excitement cannot be sustained 
for a long time. He who has skill enough to kindle in his hear- 
ers the same glow which animates himself, while he exhibits 
some vivid argument or illustration, -will suffer them to relax, 
when he has finished that topic ; and will enter on a new one 
with a more familiar tone of voice, and after such a pause as 
prepares them to accompany him with renewed satisfaction. 

Compass of Voice. 

235. It may be thought that what has been said already, con- 
cerning high and low notes, is sufficient, on this part of modula- 
tion. My remarks on pitch, however, related chiefly to the 
predominant note which one employs in a given case ; whereas I 
now refer to the range of notes, above and below this governing 
or natural key, which are required by a spirited and diversified 
delivery. 

336. Sometimes from inveterate habit, and sometimes from incapacity of 
the organs, the voice has a strong, clear bottom, without any compass upwards. 
In other cases, it has a good top, but no compass below its key. Extreme 
instances to the contrary there may be, but commonly, I have no doubt that 

7 # 



78 COMPASS OF VOICE. 

when a speaker uses only a note or two, above and below the key, it arises 
from habit, and not from organic defect.* 

237. As I cannot dwell on this point, it may be useful to say- 
briefly, that when the voice of the young speaker is found to be 
wanting in compass, I would advise him, in the first place, to 
try an experiment, similar to that which was suggested 202, 
for increasing strength or loudness of sound, without change 
of key. 
238. Suppose he takes the same line, — 

" O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! " — 

and reads it first on the lowest note on which he can articulate. Then let 
him repeat it a note higher, and so on, till he reaches the highest note of his 
voice. His compass being ascertained, by such an experiment, on a few 
words, he may then practise reading passages of some length, on that part 
of his voice which he especially wishes to improve ; taking care, in this more 
protracted exercise, not to pitch on the extreme note of his voice, either 
way, so far as to preclude some variety above or below, to correspond with 
natural delivery. 

239. In the second place, I would advise him to read passages 
where the sentiment and style are specially adapted to the pur- 
pose he has in view. If he wishes to cultivate the bottom of his 
voice, selections from narrative or didactic composition may be 
made, which will allow him to begin a new sentence in a note 
nearly as low as that in which he finished the preceding. Or he 
may take passages of poetry, in which the simile occurs — a 
figure that generally requires a low and equal movement of 
voice. 

240. If he wishes to increase his compass on the higher notes, 
let him choose passages in which spirited emotion prevails ; espe- 
cially such as have a succession of interrogative sentences. These 
will incline the voice, spontaneously, to adopt those elevated tones 

* Few indeed have, or could by any means acquire, the versatility of vocal 
power, by which "Whitefield could imitate the tones of the female or the infant 
voice at one time, and at another strike his hearers with awe by the thun- 
dering note of his under key. Nor is this power essential to an interesting 
delivery. On the other hand, there are few, if any, who could not, by proper 
pains in cultivating the voice, give it all the compass which is requisite to grave 
and dignified oratory. 



TRANSITION. 79 

on which he wishes to cultivate its strength. Instead of giving 
examples here to illustrate these principles, I refer the reader to 
Exercises, (25,) where a few selections are made for this purpose. 

Transition. 

241. By this I mean those sudden changes of voice 
which often occur in delivery. 

Rem. This article, and those which follow upon modulation, are chiefly 
intended to combine and apply the principles of the preceding sections. The 
whole object is, to elucidate that one standing law of delivery, that vocal tones 
should correspond, in variety, with sentiment; in contradistinction from 
monotony, and from that variety which is either accidental or mechanical. In 
this spontaneous coincidence, by which the voice changes its elevation, rate, 
strength, etc., in conformity with emotion, consists that excellence which is 
universally felt and admired, in the manner of a good speaker. 

242. To designate these changes, besides the rhetorical marks 
already employed to denote inflection, it will be necessary to 
adopt several new ones ; and the following may answer the pur- 
pose, signifying that the voice is to be modified, in reading what 
follows the marks respectively, thus : — 



( ° ) high. 


( o ) 10W- 


( °° ) high and loud. 


( oo ) l° w anc ^ loud. 


( •• ) slow. 


( || ) rhetorical pause. 


( — ) plaintive. 





243. In respect to the first six, when one of them occurs, it must be left to 
the reader's taste to determine how far its influence extends in what follows. 
In respect to this mark ( • • ) it may be used to signify a considerable protrac- 
tion of sound on that syllable which precedes it, and then it will be inserted 
in the course of the line, without brackets. 

EXAMPLES. 

" Heaven and earth will witness, 

If Rome . . must . . fall . . that we are innocent." 

" Thus these two, 

Imparadised in one another's arms, 
The happier Eden shall enjoy 



■ While I to hell . . am thrust.' 



80 TRANSITION. 

244. "When the same mark is designed to signify that a passage is to be 
uttered with a slow rate, it will be inserted thus ( •• ) where that passage 
begins, — the extent of its influence being left to the reader's taste ; or it may 
be combined with another mark, thus, ( "6 ), which would signify low and slow. 

245. Any one who has a good command of his voice, can use 
it with a higher or lower, a stronger or feebler note, at pleasure. 
This distinction is perfectly made, (as I have said before,) even 
by a child, in speaking to one who is near, and to one who is 
distant. In rhetorical reading, when we pass from simple narra- 
tive to direct address, especially when the address is to distant 
persons, a correspondent transition of voice is demanded. Many 
examples of this sort may be found in the Paradise Lost, from 
which the following are selected : — 



The cherubim, 



Forth issuing at the accustomed hour, stood armed 
To their night watches, in -warlike parade, 
, When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake : 

(°°) TJzziel ! || half these draw off, and coast the south, 

"With strictest watch ; — these other, |J wheel the north, 
Our circuit meets full west." 

Every reader of taste will perceive that the three last lines, in 
this case, must be spoken in a much bolder and higher voice than 
the preceding. 

246. Another fine example may be seen in the sublime de- 
scription of Satan, which ends with a speech to his associates, full 
of authority and reprehension. It is so long, that I shall give only 
parts of it, sufficient to show the transition. 

(• •) " He scarce had ceased, w r hen the superior fiend 

Was moving towards the shore ; his ponderous shield, 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
Behind him cast ; the broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon. " 



on the beach 



Of that inflamed sea he stood, || and called 

His legions, angel forms ; 

He called so loud that all the hollow deep 



TRANSITION. 81 

Of hell •• resounded. (°°) Princes, — Potentdtes,* 
Warriors ! || the flower of heaven, once yours, now Idst : 
If such astonishment as this can seize 
Eternal spirits " 

Here again, where the thought changes from description to 
vehement address, to continue the voice in the simple tones of 
narrative, would be intolerably tame. It should rise to a higher 
and firmer utterance, on the passage beginning with, " Princes, — 
Potentates" etc. 

Rem. In these cases, the change required consists chiefly in key and quan- 
tity. But there are other cases, in which these may be included, while the 
change consists also in the qualities of the voice. 

247. It was remarked (87) p. 42, that tender emotions, such as pity and 
grief, incline the voice to gentle tones and the rising slide ; while emotions of 
joy, sublimity, authority, etc., conform the tones to their own character respec- 
tively. It is where this difference of emotion occurs in the same connection, 
that the change I have mentioned in the quality of voice is demanded, anal- 
ogous to the difference between plaintive and spirited expression, or piano and 
forte, in music. 

248. To illustrate this, I select two stanzas from a hymn of 
Watts, and two from a psalm ; one being pathetic and reverential, 
the other animated and lively. These stanzas I arrange alter- 
nately, so as to exhibit the alternation of voice required by 
sentiment.f 

(°) " Alas ! and did my Savior bleed ? 
And did my Sovereign die ? 
"Would he devote that sacred head 
For such a worm as I' ? " 

(°°) « Jdy to the world ! — the Ldrd is come ! 
Let earth receive her King; 
Let every heart prepare him room, 
And heaven and nature sing." 



* In the examples, and in the exercises, a word in Italics has the common 
accent, while small capitals are occasionally used to denote a still more intensive 
stress. 

f In the first and third, the voice should be plaintive and soft, as well as 
high. 



82 EXPRESSION. 

(°) " "Was it for crimes that / had done, 
He groaned upon the tree ? 
Amaz . . ing pity ! grace unknown ! 
And love || beyond degree ! " 

(°°) " Joy to the earth ! the Savior reigns ! 
Let men their songs employ ; 
"While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains, 
Repeat the sounding joy." 

249. In the following example, we see Satan lamenting his 
loss of heaven, and then, in the dignity of a fell despair, invoking 
the infernal world. In reading this, when the apostrophe changes, 
the voice should drop from the tones of lamentation, which are 
high and soft, to those which are deep and strong, on the words 
" Hail, horrors," etc. 

(°) '"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,' 
Said then the lost archangel, ' this the seat, 
That we must change for heaven ? This mournful gloom || 
For that celestial light ? '" 

" ' Farewell, happy fields, 
"Where joy forever dwells. (°°) Hail, horrors! haIl, 
Infernal world ! And thou, . . profoundest hell, . . 
Receive thy new possessor ! one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time.' " 

Expression. 

250. This term I use in a rather limited sense, to de- 
note the proper influence of reverential and pathetic sen- 
timent on the voice.* 

251. There is a modification of voice, which accompanies 
awakened sensibility of soul, that is more easily felt than de- 
scribed ; and this constitutes the unction of delivery. Without 
this, thoughts that should impress, attract, or soothe the mind, 
often become repulsive. f 

* A partial illustration of this has been given in the foregoing section, but 
its importance calls for some additional remarks. 
f I have heard the language of our Lord, at the institution of the sacra- 



EXPRESSION. 83 

252. The fact cannot have escaped common observation, that sorrow, and 
its kindred passions, when carried to a high pitch, suspend the voice entirely. 
In a lower degree, they give it a slender and tremulous utterance. Thus Aaron, 
when informed that his two sons were smitten dead, by a stroke of divine 
vengeance, " held his peace." The emotions of his heart were too deep to 
find utterance in words. The highest passion of this sort is expressed by 
silence; and when so far moderated as to admit of words, it speaks only in 
abrupt fragments of sentences. 

253. Hence it is that all artificial imitation, in this case, is 
commonly so unlike the reality. It leads to metaphors, to ampli- 
fication and embellishment in language, and to either vociferation 
or whining in utterance. Whereas the real passion intended to 
be imitated, if it speaks at all, speaks without ornament, in few 
words, and in tones that are a perfect contrast to those of decla- 
mation. 

254. This distinction arises from those laws of the human mind, 
by which internal emotion is connected with its external signs. A 
groan or a shriek is instantly understood, as a language extorted 
by distress, a language which no art can counterfeit, and which 
conveys a meaning that words are utterly inadequate to express. 
The heart that is bursting with grief, feels the sympathy that 
speaks in a silent grasp of the hand, in tears, or in gentle tones of 
voice ; while it is shocked at the cold commiseration that utters 
itself in many words, firmly and formally pronounced. 

255. If these views are correct, passion has its own appropriate 
language ; and this, so far as the voice is concerned, (for I cannot 
here consider looks and gesture,) is what I mean by expression. 

256. That this may be cultivated by the effort of art, to some extent, is 
evident from the skill which actors have sometimes obtained in dramatic ex- 
hibition ; a skill to which one of the fraternity alluded, in his remark to a 
dignitary of the church, the cutting severity of which consists in the truth it 
contains: " "We speak of fictions as if they were realities ; you speak of real- 
ities as if they were fictions." 

mental supper, read with just those falling slides on a high note, which belong 
to the careless, colloquial tones of familiar conversation ; thus, "Take, eat; — 
this is my b6dy." Even the Lord's Prayer I have sometimes heard read with the 
same irreverent familiarity of manner. This offence against propriety becomes 
still more violent, when the sentiment is not only solemn, but pathetic, requir- 
ing that correspondent quality of voice, to which I have repeatedly alluded. 



84 REPRESENTATION. 

257. But the dignity of real eloquence, and peculiarly of sacred eloquence, 
disclaims all artifice ; and the sensibility which would be requisite to render 
imitation successful, would at the same time render it needless ; for why should 
one aim to counterfeit that of which he possesses the reality ? 

258. The fact, however, is, that the indescribable power communicated to 
the voice by a delicate sensibility, especially a Christian sensibility, is quite 
beyond the reach of art to imitate. It depends on the vivid excitement of real 
feeling ; and, in Christian oratory, implies that expansion and elevation of the 
soul, which arise only from a just feeling of religious truth. The man whose 
temperament is so phlegmatic that he cannot kindle with emotion, at least 
with such a degree of emotion as will show itself in his countenance and voice, 
may be useful in some departments of learning, but the decision of his Creator 
is stamped upon him, that he was not made for a public speaker. 

Representation. 

259. This takes place when one voice personates two 
individuals or more. 

260. Every one must have observed how much more interest- 
ing is an exhibition of men, as living agents, than of things in the 
abstract. Now, when the orator introduces another man as speak- 
ing, he either informs us what that man said, in the third person ; 
or presents him to us as spoken to, in the second person, and as 
speaking himself, in the first. 

261. So far as the principles of style are concerned, the differ- 
ence between the two methods, in point of vivacity, is easily ex- 
plained. The former is mere description, the latter is representa- 
tion. A cold narrator would have said that Verres was guilty of 
flagrant cruelty, in scourging a man who declared himself to be a 
Roman citizen. But Cicero shows us the man writhing under the 
lash of the bloody praetor, and exclaiming, " I am a Roman 
citizen." 

262. A thousand examples are at hand, to show the difference between tell- 
ing us what was said by another man, and introducing that man to speak to us 
himself. " The wise men said that they had seen his star in the east, and had 
come to worship him," is narrative. " We have seen his star in the east, 
and are come to worship him," is representation. " Jesus told Peter that 
he should deny him thrice," is narrative. " Jesus said, Peter, thou shalt 
deny me thrice," is representation. The difference between these two modes 
of communication it is the province of taste to feel, but of criticism to explain. 

263. Let us then analyze a simple thought, as expressed in these two 



REPRESENTATION. 85 

forms : ¥ Jesus inquired of Simon, the son of Jonas, whether he loved him." 
" Jesus said, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me ? " The difference in point 
of vivacity is instantly perceived ; but in what does this difference consist ? In 
two things. 

264. The first manner throws verbs into past time, and pronouns into the 
third person, producing, in the latter especially, an indefiniteness of grammat- 
ical relation, which is unfriendly to the clearness and vivacity of language. 
At the same time, the energy arising from the vocative case, from the figure of 
tense, and of interrogation, is sacrificed. As a principle of composition, though 
commonly overlooked, this goes far to explain the difference between the tame 
and the vivid in style. 

265. But the same difference is still more striking when analyzed by the 
principles of delivery. Transform an animated question into a mere statement 
of the fact, that such a question was asked, and all the intonations of voice 
are changed, so that you do not seem to hear a real person speaking, but are 
only told he did speak. 

266. This change in expression of voice will be apparent in repeating the 
two forms of the example last quoted. Doubtless most readers of the New 
Testament have felt the spirit with which the evangelist relates an interview 
between the Jewish priests and John the Baptist. Omitting the few clauses 
of narrative, it is a dialogue, thus : — 

Priests. Who art thou ? 

John. I am not the Christ. 

Priests. What then ? art thou Elias ? 

John. I am not. 

Priests. Art thou that pr6phet ? 

John. No. 

Priests. Who art thou ? — that we may give an answer to them that sent us. 
What say est thou of thyself? 

John. I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, — Make straight the 
way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias. 

Priests. Why baptizest thou then, if thou be not that Christ, nor Elias, 
neither that pr6phet ? 

John. I baptize with water ; but there standeth one among you whom ye 
know not ; etc. The reader will perceive, by turning to the passage in the 
evangelist John, 1 : 19, and repeating it as it stands there, that not only 
must the same voice ask the questions, with a higher note, and give the 
answers with a lower ; but also must distinguish the intermingled clauses of 
narrative from the dialogue. 

267. Now, all these thoughts might be intelligibly expressed in the language 
of description, by the very common process of changing the pronouns into the 
third person, and the verbs into the third person of the past tense, and, of 
course, transforming all the interlocutory tones into those of narrative. But 
where would be the variety and spirit of the passage ? It would scarcely retain 
even a dull resemblance of its present form. 

8 



86 REPRESENTATION. 

268. It is by just this sort of transformation, that reporters of debates in 
legislative bodies so often contrive to divest a speech of half its interest, if 
they do not grossly obscure its meaning. As I wish to be understood, I will 
give a specimen of this kind, where the orator is described as proceeding 
thus : " He said that the remarks of the honorable member, whether so in- 
tended by him or not, were of a very injurious character. If not aimed at him 
personally, they were adapted to cast suspicion, at least, on his motives. 
And he asked if any gentleman, in his moments of cool reflection, would blame 
him, if he stood forth the guardian of his own reputation." 

269. Now, let the narrator keep in his own province, and merely state the 
thing as it was, — and the difference is seen at once. The orator speaks in the 
first person : " I say that the remarks of the honorable member, whether so 
intended by him or not, are of a very injurious character. If not aimed at me 
personally, they are adapted to cast suspicion, at least, on my motives. And I 
ask, will any gentleman, in his moments of cool reflection, blame me, if I 
stand forth the guardian of my own reputation ? " 

270. Here, if any one will analyze the language, in both cases, he will see 
that, in the former, verbs are accommodated to past time, and pronouns are 
all thrown into the third person, though belonging to different antecedents ; 
and thus the reporter's pen spreads ambiguity and weakness over a thought, 
as the torpedo benumbs what it touches. 

271. The man who feels the inspiration of true eloquence, will 
find some of his happiest resources in what I here call representa- 
tion. He can break through the trammels of a tame, inanimate 
address. He can ask questions, and answer them ; can personate 
an accuser and a respondent ; can suppose himself accused or 
interrogated, and give his replies. He can call up the absent or 
the dead, and make them speak through his lips. 

272. The skill of representing two or more persons, by appro- 
priate management of language and voice, may properly be called 
rhetorical dialogue. It was thus that the great orators of antiquity, 
and thus that Chrysostom and Massillon, held their hearers in 
captivity. 

273. I will only add, that when a writer, in the act of com- 
position, finds himself perplexed with clashing pronouns of the 
third person, — or when he is at a loss, whether part or the 
whole of a sentence should or should not be distinguished with a 
mark of interrogation, — he should suspect in himself some aber- 
ration from the true principles of style. 



READING OF POETRY. 87 



Reading of Poetry. 

274. Before we dismiss the general subject of this chapter, 
some remarks may be expected on proper management of the 
voice in the reading of verse. These remarks, however, must 
necessarily be so brief as to give only a few leading suggestions 
on this difficult branch of elocution. I say difficult, because, on 
the one hand, the genius of verse requires that it be pronounced 
with a fuller swell of the open vowels, and in a manner more 
melodious and flowing than prose. As the peculiar charms of 
poetry consist very much in delicacy of sentiment and beauty of 
language, it were absurd to read it without regard to these char- 
acteristics. But, on the other hand, to preserve the metrical flow 
of versification, and yet not impair the sense, is no easy attain- 
ment. The following general principles may be of use to the 
student. 

275. In proportion as the sentiment of a passage is elevated, 
inspiring emotions of dignity or reverence, the voice has less 
variety of inflection, and is more inclined to the monotone. The 
grand and sublime in description and in poetic simile, the lan- 
guage of adoration and of supplication, are universally distin- 
guished, in the above respect, from familiar discourse. 

276. When the sentiment of a passage is delicate and gentle, 
especially when it is plaintive, it inclines the voice to the rising 
inflection ; and for this reason, poetry oftener requires the rising 
inflection than prose ; yet, 

277. The rights of emphasis must be respected in poetry. 
When the language of a passage is strong and discriminating, or 
familiarly descriptive, or colloquial, the same modifications of 
voice are required as in prose. The emphatic stress and inflec- 
tion, that must be intensive, in prose, to express a thought forcibly, 
are equally necessary in poetry. 

EXAMPLES. 

" Say first, of God above, or man below, 
"What can we reason, but from what we kndw f " 



88 READING OF POETRY* 

" Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, 
And drawn, supports, — upheld by Gdd or thhe ? " 

" Who thus define it, say they more or less 
Than this, — that happiness is happiness ? " 

" Order is Heaven's first law ; and, this confest, 
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest ; 
More rich, more wise ; but who infers from hence 
That such are happier, — shocks all common sense," 

"But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed : 
"What thhnl — is the reward of virtue br&adf " 

278. The metrical accent of poetry is subordinate to sense, and 
to established usage in pronunciation. It is a general rule, that 
though the poet has violated this principle in arranging the sylla- 
bles of his feet, still it should not be violated by the reader. This 
is a childish conformity to poetic measure, which we sometimes 
hear, as marked in the following examples : — 

"False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 
Its gaudy colors spreads on every place." 

Again : — 

"Their praise is still, the style is excellent; 
The sense they humbly take upon content." 

And worse still : — 

" My soul ascends above the sky, 
And triumphs in her liberty." 

279. In most instances of this sort, where the metrical accent 
would do violence to every ear of any refinement, the reader 
should not attempt to hide the fault of the poet by committing a 
greater one himself. There are some cases, however, in which 
the best way of obviating the difficulty, is to give both the metrical 
and the customary accent; or at least to do this so far, that 
neither shall be very conspicuous ; thus : — 

" Our suprdme foe in time may much relent." 

" Of thrones and mighty seraphim prdstrdte " 

" Encamp their legions, or with dbscure wing." 

I think of only two exceptions to these remarks on accent. 1. The first 
occurs where a distinguished poet has purposely violated harmony, to make 



READING OP POETRY. 89 

the harshness of his line correspond with that of the thought. This Milton 
has effectually done, in the following example, by making the customary accent 
supersede the metrical : — 

" On a sudden open fly, 

With impituous recoil, and jarring sound, 
The infernal doors ; and on their hinges grate 
Harsh thunder." 

2. The other exception occurs, where a poet of the same order, without any 
apparent reason, has so deranged the customary accent, that to restore it, in 
reading, would be a violation of euphony not to be endured ; thus : — 

" And as is due 

With glory attributed to the high 

Creator ? " 

" Only to shine, yet scarce to cdntribute 
Each orb a glimpse of light." 

280. The pauses of verse should be so managed, if possible, 
as most fully to exhibit the sense, without sacrificing the harmony 
of the composition. No good reader can fail to observe the ccesu- 
ral pause, occurring after the fourth syllable, in these flowing 
lines : — 

" Warms in the sun [| refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars || and blossoms in the trees." 

Yet no good reader would introduce the same pause, from 

regard to melody, where the sense utterly forbids it, as in this 

line : — 

" I sit, with sad civility I read." 

While the ear, then, in our heroic measure, commonly expects 
the caesura after the fourth syllable, it often demands its postpone- 
ment to the sixth or seventh, and sometimes rejects it altogether. 

281. But there is another poetical pause, namely, that which 
occurs at the end of the line, concerning which there has been 
more diversity of opinion and practice among respectable authors. 
The most competent judges have, indeed, very generally con- 
curred in saying, that this pause should be observed even in 
blank verse, except on the stage. Lowth, Johnson, Garrick, 
Kaimes, Blair, and Sheridan, were all of this opinion. Others, 

8* 



90 READING OF POETRY. 

particularly Walker, have questioned the propriety of pausing at 
the end of the line, in blank verse, except where the same pause 
would be proper in prose. 

282. Now, it seems clear to me that, (if there is any tolerable 
harmony in the measure,) even when the sense of one line runs 
closely into the next, the reader may, generally, mark the end of 
the line by a proper protraction and suspension of voice, on the 
closing syllable, — as in the following notation : — 

" Thus with the year .. 

Seasons return, but not to me returns . . 

Day || or the sweet approach of even or morn." 
" And over them triumphant Death his dart . . 

Shook || but delayed to strike." 
" All air seemed then • . 

Conflicting fire ; long time in even scale . . 

The battle hung." 
" For now the thought . . 

Both of lost happiness and lasting pain . . 

Torments him." 

Note. In none of these cases, perhaps, would a printer insert a pause at the 
end of the line ; and yet there appears to be no difficulty in making one with 
the voice, by a moderate swell and protraction of sound. But there certainly 
are examples, and those not a few, in which the writers of blank verse have so 
amalgamated their lines by prosaic arrangement of pauses," that all attempts 
of the reader to distinguish these lines would be useless. Here, again, as was 
said of misplaced accent, the reader must look to the sense, and let the poet 
be responsible for the want of musical versification. 

283. In regard to rhyme, there can be no doubt that it should 
be so read as to make the end of the line quite perceptible to the 
ear ; otherwise the correspondent sound of the final syllables, in 
which rhyme consists, would be entirely lost. It is a strange 
species of trifling, therefore, which we sometimes witness in a 
man, who takes the trouble to adjust his rhymes, in a poetic com- 
position, and then, in reading or speaking, slurs them over with a 
preposterous hurry, and confounds them by an undiscriminating 
utterance, so that they are necessarily unperceived by the hearers. 

284. I entirely concur with Walker in his remark that the 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 91 

vowels e and 0, when apostrophized, in poetry, should be pre- 
served in pronunciation. But they should be spoken in a manner 
so slight and accelerated, as easily to coalesce with the following 
syllable. An example or two of this will require no explanation. 

" But of the two less dang'rous is the offence." 
" Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms ? " 



CHAPTER VII. 
RHETOBICAL ACTION. 

285. I use the term action, not for the whole of de- 
livery, according to the most extensive sense given to it 
by the ancients ; nor yet in the most restricted modern 
sense, as equivalent to gesture merely ; but as including 
also attitudes, and expression of the countenance. 

286. That action, which Cicero calls " sermo corporis," is an 
important part of oratory, is too evident to demand proof. If any 
one doubts this, let him ask himself, How does a great painter give 
reality and life to his portrait ? How do children speak ? How 
do the dumb speak ? Action and attitude in these cases are the 
language of nature to express feeling and emotion. 

There are two extremes respecting this subject, each of which 
deserves a brief notice, in this place, as being at variance with 
common sense. 

287. The first is, that which encumbers a speaker with so 
much technical regulation of his movements, as to make him an 
automaton. It is a great mistake to suppose that a young student, 
before he can commence his efforts in oratory, must commit to 
memory a system of rules respecting gesticulation, just as arith- 
metical tables must be learned by the tyro in numbers. 



92 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

288. When a beginner in elocution shall be able to look at an 
assembly without an unmanly nutter of spirits, and shall have 
acquired a good degree of ease in the attitudes and motions of 
his body, then it will be time enough to rectify, one after another, 
the faults of his own manner, by attention to good models and 
correct principles of action. This, I am persuaded, should be 
attempted gradually, rather than all at once ; for the transform- 
ing influence of practice is essential to any useful application of 
precepts. And these precepts, too, when given to an individual, I 
am fully satisfied, after much observation, instead of being con- 
fined to minute directions respecting his own gesticulation, should 
especially be adapted to instruct him in general principles. 

289. All attempts to regulate the attitudes and movements of 
his body, by diagrams and geometrical lines, without great skill 
in the teacher, will lead to an affected, mechanical manner. His 
habits are of prime importance. By these, good or bad, he must 
be governed in the act of speaking ; for to think of his manner 
then will be the certain ruin of all simplicity. Let all these habits 
be well formed, and be his own, so as to govern his movements 
spontaneously, and trust the rest to emotion. 

290. The other extreme to which I alluded, is that which con- 
demns all precepts, and all preparatory practice too, as mischiev- 
ous in their influence, because no one can learn to speak till he 
comes into the real business of speaking, as his profession. 

291. On this I can make but one passing remark. Prepara- 
tory discipline of the faculties necessarily wants the stimulus of 
real business, in respect to every liberal art and valuable talent 
among men. Why, then, shall not such discipline be deemed use- 
less in all other cases, as well as in elocution ? Why shall we 
not neglect to learn any thing, which relates to practical skill in a 
profession, till we actually enter on that profession ? 

I now proceed to offer my remarks on Khetorical Action, divid- 
ing the subject into two parts. 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 93 

PART I. 
THE PRINCIPLES OF RHETORICAL ACTION. 

292. The power of action consists wholly in its cor- 
respondence with thought and emotion ; and this corre- 
spondence arises either from nature or custom. 

293. The body is the instrument of the soul, or the 
medium of expressing internal emotions by external 
signs. The less these signs depend on the will, on 
usage, or on accident, the more uniform they are, and 
the more certainly to be relied on. 

294. The soul speaks most intelligibly, so far as wi* 
hie signs are concerned, in those muscles which are the 
most pliant and prompt to obey its dictates. These are 
the muscles of the face; which spontaneously, and 
almost instantaneously, respond to the impulse from 
within. 

295. Anger, for example, shows itself in the contraction of the 
brow, the flash of the eye, the quivering of the lip, and the 
alternate paleness and crimson of the cheek. Terror is ex- 
pressed by convulsive heaving of the bosom, and by hurried 
respiration and speech. Joy sparkles in the eye, — sorrow vents 
itself in tears. 

296. Now, why is it that these signs, invariably, and every 
where, are regarded as the stamp of reality ? The reason is, 
they are not only the genuine language of emotion, but are inde- 
pendent of the will. A groan or shriek speaks to the ear, as the 
language of distress, with far more thrilling effect than words. 
Yet these may be counterfeited by art. Much more may com- 
mon tones of voice be rendered loud or soft, high or low, at 
pleasure. 

297. But not so with the signs which emotion imprints on the 
face. Whether anger, fear, joy, shall show themselves in the 



94 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

hue of my cheek, or the expression of my eye, depends not at 
all on my choice, any more than whether my heart shall beat, 
and my blood circulate. So unequivocal is this language of the 
passions, and so incapable of being applied to purposes of decep- 
tion, that all men feel its force, instinctively and immediately. 
They know that the hand or the tongue, which obey the dictates 
of the will, may deceive ; but the face cannot speak falsehood. 

298. I might add, that he whose soul is so destitute of emotion, 
as not to impart this expression to his countenance, or he whose 
acquired habits are so unfortunate, as to frustrate this expression, 
whatever qualities he may possess besides, lacks one grand requi- 
site to true eloquence. 

299. If the visible signs of passion are thus invariable, so that 
even a child instinctively understands the smile or the frown of its 
nurse, it is probably no visionary theory which supposes a corre- 
spondence, to some extent, between the habits of the mind, and 
certain configurations in the features of the face. 

300. Every one knows the difference between the cheerful 
aspect of innocence, the vivacity of intelligence, the charming 
languor of pity or grief, as imprinted on the countenance ; and the 
scowl of misanthropy, the dark suspicion of guilt, the vacant stare 
of stupidity, or the haggard frenzy of despair. And it is rea- 
sonable to suppose that affections and intellectual habits, such as 
benevolence or malignity, cheerfulness or melancholy, deep 
thought or frivolity, must imprint themselves, just in proportion to 
their predominance, in distinct and permanent lines upon the face. 

Attitude and Mien. 

301. Here, again, all distinctions, of any value, result from our 
knowledge of the influence which the mind has on the body. An 
erect attitude denotes majesty, activity, strength. It becomes the 
authority of the commander, the energy of a soldier in arms, and, 
in all cases, the dignity of conscious innocence. Adam and Eve, 
in the description of Milton, on account of their noble shape and 
erect carriage, " seemed lords of all." The leaning attitude, in 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 95 

its varieties of expression, may denote affection, respect, the 
earnestness of entreaty, the dignity of composure, the listless- 
ness of indifference, or the lassitude of disease. 

302. The air of a man, too, including his general motion, has 
its language. That peculiarity in the walk of different persons, 
which enables us to distinguish, at a distance, one friend' from 
another, does not of course make a correspondent description of 
character. But the measured pace of the ploughman, the strut 
of the coxcomb, and the dignified gait of the military chief, we 
necessarily associate with a supposed difference of personal quali- 
ties and habits in the individuals. Hence the queen of Olympus 
is represented, in poetic fable, as claiming to be known by her 
stately carriage — " divum incedo regina." And so Venus was 
known to her son by the elegance of her motion — " incessu 
patuit dea." 

303. In those parts of the body which act frequently and visi- 
bly in the common offices of life, motion is more or less signifi- 
cant, according to circumstances. A deaf man places his hand 
by his ear, in such a manner as partially to serve the purpose of 
a hearing trumpet. He opens his mouth in the attitude of listen- 
ing, because defective hearing is assisted by transmission of sound 
through a passage from the mouth to the ear. 

304. Joy, approaching to rapture, gives a sparkling brilliancy 
to the eye and a sprightly activity to the limbs. We see this in 
a long absent child springing to the arms of its parent ; we see 
it in the beautiful narrative of the lame man, who had been mi- 
raculously healed, " walking, and leaping, and praising God." 

. 305. The head, gently reclined, denotes grief or shame ; erect, 
— courage, firmness; thrown back or shaken, — dissent, nega- 
tion ; forwards, — assent. 

The hand, raised and inverted, repels ; more elevated and ex- 
tended, denotes surprise ; placed on the mouth, silence ; on the 
head, pain ; on the breast, affection, or an appeal to conscience ; 
clinched, it signifies defiance. Both hands raised, with the palms 
united, express supplication ; gently clasped, thankfulness ; wrung, 
agony. 



96 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

306. In most of these cases, action is significant because it is 
spontaneous and uniform. The mother, who saw her son just 
shot dead in Covent Garden, expressed her amazement by a mo- 
tion of her hand, such as a thousand others would make, probably 
without one exception, in similar circumstances. 

307. A Greek eulogist of Caesar says, " His right hand was mighty to com- 
mand, which by its majestic power did quell the fierce audacity of barbarous 
men." " A man standing by the bed of an expiring friend, waving his hand 
with the palm outward, tells an officious nurse to stand back at a distance. 
Again the same hand beckons, with the palm inward, and the nurse flies to his 
assistance." * The Roman who held up the stump of his arm, from which the 
hand was lost in the service of his country, pleaded for his brother, with an 
eloquence surpassing the power of words. And all the influence of the 
tribunes could not persuade the people to pass a vote of condemnation against 
Manlius, while he stood and silently stretched out his hand towards the 
Capitol, which his valor had saved. 



Action considered as significant from Custom. 

308. In this respect, its meaning, like that of words, is arbi- 
trary, local, and mutable. In Europe, respect is expressed by un- 
covering the head ; in the East, by keeping it covered. In one 
country, the same thing is expressed by bowing ; in another, by 
kneeling ; in another, by prostration. The New Zealander presses 
his nose against that of his friend, to denote what we express by 
a squeeze of the hand.f The European welcomes the return of 
a beloved object by an embrace ; the Taheitan signifies the 
same emotion by tearing his hair and lacerating his body. 

309. On gestures of this description I shall say nothing more, 
except that they have very little concern with grave oratory. 
This allows nothing as becoming, that does not correspond with 
the time and place, the age of the orator, and the elevation of the 
subject. It abjures mimicry and pantomime. The theatre admits 
of attitude and action, that would be altogether extravagant in the 
senate. The forum, too, though much more restricted than the 

* Siddons. 

f Homer makes Glaucus and Diomed, two chiefs of the opposing armies, 
shake hands, as a token of individual friendship. Iliad, VI. 233. 



RHETORICAL. ACTION. 97 

stage, allows a violence that would be unsuitable to the business 
of the sacred orator. 

310. Indeed, the dignity of eloquence can in no case con- 
descend to histrionic levity. The comic actor may descend to 
minute imitation ; he may, for example, represent the fingers of 
the physician applied to the pulse of his patient, or of the musician 
to the strings of his instrument. But in the orator, all this is to 
be, as Quinctilian says, " longissime fugiendum." 



PART II. 
FAULTS OF RHETORICAL ACTION. 

311. Before I proceed to that cursory view of these 
which I propose to give, it may be useful to advert to 
the sources from which they are derived. These are, 
chiefly, personal defects, diffidence, and imitation. 

312. Any considerable defect, original or accidental, in the 
conformation of the body, may injure the force or gracefulness of 
its movements. The walk of Achilles must have had more dig- 
nity than the halting gait of Thersites. If Cicero had lost his 
right hand, or even the thumb or forefinger of that hand, though 
he would have been still the first orator of Rome, he would have 
been somewhat less than Cicero. Austin observes that shortness 
of neck and of arms is unfavorable to oratorical gesture. But I 
am not aware that this remark is justified by facts, except so 
far as corpulence is unfriendly to agility and freedom of move- 
ment. 

313. Many defects, in the action of public speakers, have their 
origin probably in an unmanly diffidence. When one, who has 
had no preparatory discipline in public speaking, rises to address 
a large assembly, he is appalled at the very aspect of his audience, 
and dares not stir a limb, lest he should commit some mistake. 
Before he surmounts this timidity, he is liable to fall under the 
dominion of habits, from which he can never release himself. 

9 



98 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

314. When, therefore, Walker says, " A speaker should use 
no more gesture than he can help," he must mean an accomplished 
speaker, whose external powers spontaneously obey the impulse 
of his feelings. But it would be idle to say that a prisoner, whose 
hands are pinioned by cords, should stir them no more than he 
can help. And it is no less idle to say this of a speaker whose 
hands are pinioned by habit. Cut the cords that bind him, set his 
limbs at liberty to obey his inward emotions, and I readily admit 
the justice of the principle. But when diffidence does not ac- 
quire such an ascendency as to suppress action, it may render it 
constrained and inappropriate, and in many ways frustrate its 
utility. 

315. The only cause of the imperfections which I am about to 
notice, is imitation. This, when combined with the one just men- 
tioned, operates with an influence more powerful, perhaps, than in 
any other case. Addison, in describing English oratory, says, 
" We can talk of life and death in cold blood, and keep our 
temper in a discourse that turns upon every thing that is dear to 
us." This censure he extends to the pulpit, the bar, and the sen- 
ate. The fact he accounts for partly by the charitable supposition 
that the English are peculiarly modest ; while he allows us, if he 
does not oblige us, to ascribe it ultimately to a frigid national 
temperament. And yet, in this he seems hardly consistent ; for 
he adds, " Though our zeal breaks out in the finest tropes and 
figures, it is not able to stir a limb about us." 

316. But how can the external signs of emotion be thus incon- 
gruous ? A zeal that kindles the soul of a speaker, that bursts 
from his mouth in tropes, never fails to stir his limbs, unless some 
powerful counteracting cause prevents. Now, we have just seen 
that such a cause may exist, which, even in spite of emotion, will 
as effectually confine a man's hands, as if they were literally 
bound. And what absurdity is there in supposing, that what was 
excess of modesty in a few Englishmen of distinction, at some 
early period, was transferred to others by imitation ; so that the 
want of gesture, of which Addison complains, became a national 
characteristic ? 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 99 

317. National habits result from individual, often by a process 
of ages, the effects of which are manifest, while the operation is 
unseen. And it is more philosophical to ascribe the fact, on 
which I am remarking, to a public taste, formed and perpetuated 
by imitation, than to suppose, as is often done, a temperament 
singularly phlegmatic in a people, whose poets, and secular ora- 
tors, have unquestionably surpassed all their contemporaries in 
powers of imagination. 

318. But want of action is not the only fault that may spring 
from imitation. In the case of individuals, excess and awkward- 
ness may arise from undue regard to some improper model. 
Cicero mentions an orator, who was distinguished for pathos and 
a wry face ; and says that another, who made him his pattern, 
imitated his distortion of feature, but not his pathos. 

319. Special faults in one whom we mean to imitate, strike 
attention, because they commonly appear in the form of peculiar- 
ity. This, while it renders imitation more preposterous, renders 
it, at the same time, more obvious. The worst gesture of Hamil- 
ton has been transmitted by imitation to this time ; and is used 
by some who never saw that great man, and who know nothing 
of his manner as a speaker. In this way, some peculiarity, that 
was perhaps accidental at first, may acquire ascendency in a col- 
lege, and be transmitted from one generation to another of its 
students. 

In proceeding now to mention, with more particularity, the faults of action, 
I shall follow the order of my previous remarks on countenance, attitude, and 
gesture. 

. 320. The eye is the only part of the face that it falls within 
my design to notice here, both because this is the chief seat of 
expression, and because its significance is especially liable to be 
frustrated by mismanagement. For reasons already mentioned, 
the intercourse of soul between speaker and hearers is carried on 
more unequivocally through the eye, than in any other way. But 
if he neglects to look at them, and they in return neglect (as they 
commonly will) to look at him, the mutual reaction of feeling 



100 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

through the countenance is lost ; and vocal language is all the 
medium of intercourse that remains.* 

321. The eye " bent on vacuity," as the artists call it, is the 
next most common defect of this sort. The glass eye of a wax 
figure at once tells its own character. There may be, in other 
respects, the proportion and complexion of a human face ; but 
that eye, the moment it is examined, you perceive, is nothing 
more, and, at best, it can be nothing more, than a bungling coun- 
terfeit. So the eye of a speaker may be open, and yet not see ; 
at least there may be no discrimination, no meaning in its look. 
It does not look at any thing. There is in its expression a gen- 
erality, a vacuity, so to speak, that expresses nothing. 

322. To the same class belongs that indefinite sweep of the 
eye, which passes from one side to another of an assembly, rest- 
ing nowhere ; and that tremulous, waving cast of the eye, and 
winking of the eyelid, which is in direct contrast to an open, col- 
lected, manly expression of the face.t 

So fatal are these faults to the impression of delivery, that too 
much care cannot be ta^en to avoid them. 

323. Attitude I use, not in the theatrical sense of the word, 
(for this has no concern with oratory,) but as denoting the general 
positions of the body, which are becoming or otherwise in a 



* The reader will please to observe that, in the following pages, such re- 
marks as apply solely or peculiarly to the pulpit are given in the notes. 

It falls not within my design here to inquire how far the prevalent practice 
of reading sermons ought to be dispensed with. But it is plainly absurd to 
speak of expression in a preacher's eye, while it is fixed on a manuscript. 
Nearly the same infelicity, and on some accounts a greater one, attends the 
rapid, dodging cast of the eye from the notes to the hearers, and back again ; 
implying a servile dependence on what is written, even in repeating the most 
familiar declarations of the Bible. And this infelicity is still aggravated by 
such a position of the manuscript, as to require the eye to be turned directly 
downward in looking at it. 

f Here, again, the habit acquired by some preachers, from closely reading 
their sermons, is such, that when they raise their eye from the paper, they fix 
it on the floor of the aisle, or on a post or pannel, to avoid a direct look at 
their hearers. 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 101 

speaker. In some few instances, I have observed the head to be 
kept so erect, as to give the air of haughtiness. In others, it is 
dropped so low, that the man seems to be carelessly surveying 
his own person. In others, it is reclined towards one shoulder, so 
as to give the appearance of languor or indolence.* 

324. As to the degree of motion that is proper for the body, it 
may be safely said, that while the fixedness of a post is an ex- 
treme, all violent tossing of the body from side to side, rising on 
the toes, or writhing of the shoulders and limbs, are not less un- 
seemly. 

The remarks which come next to be made on gesture, are more 
various.t 

325. One principal fault which I have noticed in this, is want 
of appropriateness. By this I mean that it is not sufficiently 
adapted to circumstances. An address to an assembly of com- 

* There is often something characteristic in the air with which a preacher 
enters a church, ascends the pulpit, and rises in it to address an assembly. If 
he assumes the gracefulness of a fine gentleman, as if he were practising the 
lessons of an assembly room, every hearer of discernment will see that his 
object is to exhibit himself, and will be offended at so gross a want of that 
seriousness which becomes his sacred office. 

In minor points, what constitutes decorum depends not on philosophy nor 
accident, but on custom. From real or affected carelessness on such points, 
the preacher may fix on some trivial circumstance that attention of his 
hearers which should be devoted to greater things. He may do this, for 
example, by standing much too high, or too low, in the pulpit ; by rising, as in 
the act of commencing his sermon, before the singing is closed ; or delaying 
for so long an interval, as to excite apprehension that something has befallen 
him ; by an awkward holding his Psalm-book, or especially his Bible, with one 
side hanging down or doubled backwards ; by drawing his hands behind him, 
or thrusting them into his clothes. 

In these things, as in all others, connected with the worship of God, it is 
the province of good sense to avoid peculiarity in trifles. 

f The prevailing taste in our own country, like that of England, has been 
to employ but little action in the pulpit. Whitefield, in the last century, 
broke through the trammels of custom, in a boldness and variety of action 
bordering on that of the stage. But his gesture, like his elocution, was far 
from the declamatory. His hand had scarcely less authority than Caesar's ; 
and the movement even of his finger gave an electric thrill to the bosoms of 
his hearers. Massillon's action was less diversified, and less powerful, though 
more refined, as was the general character of his eloquence. 

9* 



102 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

mon men, admits a boldness of action that would be unseemly in 
one delivered to a prince.* 

326. More vivacity and variety is admissible in the action of a 
young speaker, than of one who is aged ; and the same boldness 
of manner which is proper when the orator is kindled to a glow- 
ing fervor, in the close of a discourse, would be out of place at its 
commencement. Yet the same action is used, by some speakers, 
in the exordium as in the conclusion — in cool argument to the 
understanding, as in impassioned appeals to the heart. Good 
sense will lead a man, as Quinctilian says, " to act, as well as to 
speak, in a different manner, to different persons, at different times, 
and on different subjects." 

327. Nearly of the same class is another kind of faults arising 
from want of discrimination. Of this sort is that puerile imita- 
tion which consists in acting words, instead of thoughts. The 
declaimer can never utter the word heart, without laying his hand 
on his breast ; nor speak of God or heaven, in the most incidental 
manner, without directing his eye and his gesture upwards. Let 
the same principle be carried out, in repeating the prophet's de- 
scription of true fasting, — " It is not for a man to bow down his 
head as a bulrush," etc., — and every one would see that to con- 
form the gesture to the words, is but childish mimicry. This 
false taste has been reprobated even on the stage, as in the follow- 
ing passage from Hamlet : — 

" Why should the poor be flattered ? 

No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
When thrift may follow fawning. 



Give me the man 



That is not passion's slave." 



* On this principle it is, that gesture is felt to be so unreasonable in person- 
ating God, and in addresses made to him. When we introduce him as speak- 
ing to man, or when we speak of his adorable perfections, or to him in prayer, 
the sentiments inspired demand composure and reverence of manner. Good 
taste, then, can never approve the stretching upwards of the hands at full length, 
in the manner of Whitefield, at the commencement of prayer ; nor the frown- 
ing aspect and the repelling movement of the hand, with which many utter 
the sentence of the final Judge, " Depart, ye cursed," &c. 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 103 

A certain actor, in repeating these lines, lent the knee, and 
kissed the hand, instead of assuming, as he ought, the firm 
attitude and indignant look proper to express Hamlet's contempt 
for a cringing parasite. But it is still more absurd, in grave 
delivery, to regard mere phraseology, instead of sentiment and 
emotion. 

328. There is no case in which this want of discrimination 
oftener occurs, than in a class of words denoting sometimes nu- 
merical, and sometimes local extent, accompanied by the spread- 
ing of both hands ; the significance of this gesture being de- 
stroyed by misapplication. The following examples may illus- 
trate my meaning : — 

Exam. 1. " The goodness of God is the source of all our blessings." The 
declaimer, when he utters the word God, raises his eye and his right hand ; and 
when he utters the word all, extends both hands. Now, the latter action con- 
founds two things, that are very distinct, number and space. When I recount 
all the blessings of my life, they are very many ; but why should I spread my 
hands to denote a multiplicity that is merely numerical and successive ? when 
the thought has no concern with local dimensions, any more than in this case : 
" All the days of Methuselah were nine hundred and sixty and nine years." 

Exam. 2. "All the actions of our lives will be brought into judgment." 
Here, again, the thought is that of arithmetical succession, not of local extent ; 
and if any gesture is demanded, it is not the spreading of both hands. 

Exam. 3. "I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be to all 
people." Here the local extent which belongs to the thought, is properly 
expressed by action of both hands. 

329. If there is language in action, it requires propriety and 
precision. The indiscriminate movement of the hands signifies 
nothing. Want of emphasis in this language is a great but com- 
mon fault. When the speaker, however, has an emphatic stroke 
of the hand, its effect is lost, if that stroke does not accompany 
the emphasis of the voice ; that is, if it falls one syllable after the 
stress of voice, or if it is disproportionate in force to that stress, 
in the same degree its meaning is impaired. The direction of the 
hand, too, in which the emphatic stroke terminates, is significant. 
The elevated termination suits high passion ; the horizontal, de- 
cision ; the downward, disapprobation. And any of these may 
denote definite designation of particular objects. 



104 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

330. Another fault of action is excess. In some cases it is too 
constant. To enter on a discourse with passionate exclamations 
and high-wrought figures, while the speaker and audience are 
both cool, is not more absurd than to begin with continual gesticu- 
lation. No man probably ever carried the language of action to 
so high a pitch as Garrick. Yet Dr. Gregory says of this great 
dramatic speaker, " He used less action than any performer I 
ever saw ; but his action always had meaning ; it always spoke. 
By being less than that of other actors, it had the greater force." 
But if constant action has too much levity, even for the stage, 
what shall we say of that man's taste, who, in speaking on a sub- 
ject of serious importance, can scarcely utter a sentence without 
extending his hands ? " Nequid nimis." * 

331. But action may be not merely too much; — it may be too 
violent. Such are the habits of some men, that they can never 
raise the hand, without stretching the arm at full length above the 
head, or in a horizontal sweep ; or drawing it back, as if in the 
attitude of prostrating some giant at a stroke. But such a man 
seems to forget that gentleness, and tranquillity, and dignity, are 
attributes that prevail more than violence, in real oratory. The 
full stroke of the hand, with extended arm, should be reserved for 
its own appropriate occasions. For common purposes, a smaller 
movement is sufficient, and even more expressive. The meaning 
of a gesture depends not on its compass. The tap of Csesar's 
finger was enough to awe a senate. 

332. Action is often too complex. When there is want of 
precision in the intellectual habits of the speaker, he adopts 
perhaps two or three gestures for one thought. In this way all 

* Fenelon says, "Some time ago, I happened to fall asleep at a sermon; 
and when I awaked, the preacher was in a very violent agitation, so that I 
fancied, at first, he was pressing some important point of morality. But he 
was only giving notice, that on the Sunday following, he would preach upon 
repentance. I was extremely surprised to hear so indifferent a thing uttered 
with so much vehemence." The motion of the arm is proper, when the orator 
is very vehement, but he ought not to move his arm in order to appear vehe- 
ment. Nay, there are many things that ought to be pronounced calmly, and 
without any motion . 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 105 

simplicity is sacrificed ; for though the idea is complex, an at- 
tempt to exhibit each shade of meaning by the hand is ridiculous. 
After oue principal stroke, every appendage to this commonly 
weakens its effect. 

333. Another fault of action is too great uniformity. Like 
periodic tones and stress of voice, the same gesture recurring 
constantly, shows want of discriminating taste. " In all things," 
says Cicero, " repetition is the parent of satiety." * 

334. This barren sameness usually prevails, in a man's man- 
ner, just in proportion as it is ungraceful. Suppose, for example, 
that he is accustomed to raise his arm by a motion from the 
shoulder, without bending the elbow ; or that the elbow is bent to 
a right angle, and thrust outward ; or that it is drawn close to the 
side, so that the action is confined to the lower part of the arm 
and hand ; or that the hand is drawn to the left, by bending the 
wrist so far as to give the appearance of constraint, or backwards 
so far as to contract the thumb and fingers ; — in all these cases, 
the motion is at once stiff and unvaried. 

335. The same thing is commonly true of all short, abrupt, 
and jerking movements. These remind you of the dry limb of a 
tree, forced into short and rigid vibrations by the wind ; and not 
of the luxuriant branch of the willow, gently and variously wav- 
ing before the breeze. The action of the graceful speaker is 
easy and flowing, as well as forcible. His hand describes curve 
lines, rather than right or acute angles ; and when its office is 
finished, in any case, it drops gently down at his side, instead of 
being snatched away, as from the bite of a reptile. The action 
of young children is never deficient in grace or variety ; because 
it is not vitiated by diffidence, affectation, or habit. 

336. There is one more class of faults, which seems to 
arise from an attempt to shun such as I have just 
described, and which I cannot better designate, than by 
the phrase mechanical variety. 

* " When a preacher," says Reybaz, "has only one gesture, it will, neces- 
sarily, be incorrect or insignificant : a dull uniformity of action is the com- 
mon defect of preachers." 



106 RHETORICAL ACTION. 

337. This is analogous to that variety of tones which is pro- 
duced by an effort to be various, without regard to sense. The 
diversity of notes, like those of the chiming clock, returns period- 
ically, but is always the same diversity. So a speaker may have 
several gestures, which he repeats always in the same successive 
order. 

338. The most common form of this artificial variety consists 
in the alternate use of the right hand and the left. I have seen a 
preacher, who aimed to avoid sameness of action, in the course 
of a few sentences, extend first his right hand, then his left, and 
then both. This order was continued through the discourse ; so 
that these three gestures, whatever might be the sentiment, re- 
turned with nearly periodical exactness. Now, whatever variety 
is attained in this way, is at best but a uniform variety ; and is the 
more disgusting, in proportion as it is the more studied and artificial. 

339. But the question arises, Does this charge always lie against the use of 
the left hand alone ? I answer, By no means. The almost universal pre- 
cepts, however, in the institutes of oratory, giving precedence to the right 
hand, are not without reason. It has been said, indeed, that the confinement 
of the left hand in holding up the robe, was originally the ground of this 
preference ; and that this is a reason which does not exist in modern times. 
But how did it happen that this service, denoting inferiority, came to be 
assigned to the left, rather than the right hand ? Doubtless because this 
accords with a general usage of men, through all time. "When Joseph brought 
his two sons to be blessed by Jacob, the patriarch signified which was the 
object of special benediction, by placing the right hand on his head, and 
the left on the head of the other. As a token of respect to his mother, 
Solomon gave her a seat on the right hand of his throne. Throughout the 
Bible, the right hand is spoken of as the emblem of honor, strength, authority, 
or victory. 

340. The common act of salutation is expressed by the right hand ; and 
hence its name dextra, from Sexonai, to take, that is, by the hand ; and hence, 
by figure, the English word dextrous, denoting skill and agility. General 
custom has always given preference to the right hand, when only one is used, 
in the common offices of life. The sword of the warrior, the knife of the 
surgical operator, the pen of the author, belong to this hand. With us to call 
a man left-handed, is to call him awkward ; and it is a curious fact that the 
Sandwich Islanders use the same phrase to denote ignorance or unskilfulness. 
To give the left hand in salutation, denotes a careless familiarity and levity 
never offered to a superior. To employ this in taking an oath, or in giving 
what is called the "right hand of fellowship," as a religious act, would be 
deemed rusticity or irreverent trifling. 



RHETORICAL ACTION. 107 

341. Now, so long as this general usage exists, without inquiring here into 
its origin, it is manifest that the left hand can never, without incongruity, 
assume precedence over the right, so as to perform alone the principal gesture, 
with the few exceptions mentioned below. To raise this hand, for example, 
as expressing authority ; or to lay it on the breast, in an appeal to conscience, 
would be likely to excite a smile. Though it often acts, with great signifi- 
cance, in conjunction with the right hand, the only cases that I recollect, 
where it can with propriety act alone, in the principal gesture, are these : — 

342. First, when the left hand is spoken of in contradistinction from the 
right. Secondly, when there is local allusion to some object on the left of the 
speaker. For example, if his face is to the north, and he points to the setting 
sun, it is better, perhaps, to do it with his left hand, than to turn his body, so 
as to make it convenient to do it with his right. Thirdly, when two things 
are contrasted, though without local allusion, if the case requires that the one 
be marked by the action of the right hand, it is often best to mark the anti- 
thetic object with the left. 

343. But I would not magnify, by dwelling on it, a question of so small 
moment. It would have been despatched in a sentence or two, had it not 
seemed proper to show, that what some are disposed to call an arbitrary and 
groundless precept of ancient rhetoric, has its foundation in a general and 
instinctive feeling of propriety. Still I would say, that when a departure from 
this precept results, not from affectation, but from emotion, it is far better 
than any minute observance of propriety, which arises from a coldly correct 
and artificial habit. 

344. In finishing this chapter, the general remark may be 
made as applying to action, and indeed to the whole subject of 
delivery, that many smaller blemishes are scarcely observed in 
a speaker who is deeply interested in his subject ; while the 
affectation of excellence is never excused by judicious hearers. 
To be a first rate orator, requires a combination of powers which 
few men possess ; and no means of cultivation can ever confer 
these highest requisites for eloquence, on public speakers gen- 
erally. But neither is it necessary to eminent usefulness, that 
these requisites should be possessed by all. Any man, who has 
good sense and a warm heart, if his faculties for elocution are 
not essentially defective, and if he is patient and faithful in the 
discipline of these faculties, may render himself an agreeable and 
impressive speaker. 



108 REMARKS AND DIRECTIONS. 



EXERCISES 



PART I. 

DESIGNED TO ILLUSTRATE THE PRINCIPLES OF RHETORICAL 
DELITERY. 



REMARKS AND DIRECTIONS. 

These Exercises are divided into two parts. The first part 
consists of selections, which are made expressly to illustrate the 
principles laid down in the foregoing analysis of rhetorical 
delivery. The classification of these selections is denoted, in 
each case, by the number, corresponding with the marginal fig- 
ures in the Analysis. In using these exercises of the first part, 
the student may be assisted by the following remarks and 
directions : — 

1. When a principle is supposed to be already familiar, the 
illustrations will be few ; in cases of more difficulty, or more im- 
portance, they will be extended to greater length. 

2. In these examples, a rhetorical notation is applied, to desig- 
nate inflection, emphasis, and, in some instances, modulation. 
When a word has but a moderate stress, it will often be distin- 
guished only by the mark of inflection ; when the stress amounts 
to decided emphasis, it will be denoted by the Italic type ; and 
sometimes, when strongly intensive, by small capitals. The 
reader is desired to remember, too, that in passages taken from 
the Scriptures, Italic words are not used as in the English Bible, 
but simply to express emphasis. 

3. This rhetorical notation is applied only to cases in which 
my own judgment is pretty clear ; though, in many of these cases, 



EX. I.] EXERCISES ON ARTICULATION. 109 

I am aware that there is room for diversity of taste. Should this 
notation be found useful in practice, it may be more extensively 
applied, in a separate collection of exercises. 

4. The principle to be illustrated by any exercise, should be 
carefully examined and well understood, in the first place ; and, 
until the student has become quite familiar with this praxis of the 
voice, he should not attempt to read an example, longer or shorter, 
without previous attention to it. 

5. The reader will observe that only very short examples can 
be expected to apply exclusively to a single principle. On ac- 
count of the great labor and difficulty of selecting such examples, 
longer ones are often chosen, which include other principles be- 
sides the one specially in view. It will be deemed sufficient, in 
such cases, that there is an obvious relation to the point chiefly to 
be regarded. 



EXERCISES ON ARTICULATION. 

EXERCISE I. 

(See 46.*) 

345. Difficult Articulation from immediate Succession of 
the same or similar sounds. 

1. The youth hates study. 

2. The wild beasts straggled through the vale. 

3. The steadfast stranger in the forests sfrayed. 

4. It was the finest street of the city. 

5. When Aja# strives some rock's vast weight to throw. 

6. It was the severest storm of the season, but the masts 
stood through the gale. 

7. That lasts till night. ) 
That las* still night. ) 

* The figures refer to paragraphs in the body of the work. 

10 



110 EXERCISES ON ARTICULATION. [EX. II. III. 

8. He can debate on either side of the question. ) 
He can debate on neither side of the question. J 

9. Who ever imagined such an ocean to exist ? ) 
Who ever imagined such a notion to exist ? S 



EXERCISE II. 

(See 46, 3.) 

346. Difficult Succession of Consonants without Accent. 

1. He has taken leave of terrestrial trials and enjoyments, 
and is laid in the grave, the common receptacle and home of 
mortals. 

2. Though this barbarous chief received us very courteously, 
and spoke to us very communicatively at the first interview, we 
soon lost our confidence in the disinterestedness of his motives. 

3. Though there could be no doubt as to the reasonableness of 
our request, yet he saw fit peremptorily to refuse it, and authori- 
tatively to require that we should depart from the country. As no 
alternative was left us, we unhesitatingly prepared to obey this 
arbitrary mandate. 

EXERCISE III. 

(See 52, 53, 54.) 

347. Tendency to slide over unaccented Vowels. 

1. Several, delivered, separate, propose, melody, history, reg- 
ular, government, regulate, premeditate, garrulous, miraculous, 
miracle, often, soften, opposite. 

2. There were several princes in the procession. 

3. All deliberation, therefore, is excluded. 

4. He studies history and rhetoric. 

5. His deliverance was almost miraculous. 

6. Be prepared to precede them. 

7. The communications of the competitors were compared 
together. 



EX. IV.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. Ill 

EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 

EXERCISE IV. 

(See 81, Rule I.) 

348. The Disjunctive (Or) has the rising Inflection 

BEFORE, AND THE FALLING AFTER IT. 

1. Then said Jesus unto them, I will ask you one thing : Is it 
lawful on the Sabbath days to do good, or to do evil ? to save life, 
or to destroy it ? 

2. Whether we are hurt by a mad or a blind man, the pain is 
still the same. And with regard to those who are undone, it 
avails little whether it be by a man who deceives them, or by one 
who is himself deceived. 

3. Has God forsaken the works of his own hands ? or does he 
always graciously preserve, and keep, and guide them ? 

4. Therefore, O ye judges, you are now to consider, whether 
it is more probable that the deceased was murdered by the man 
who inherits his estate, or by him who inherits nothing but beggary 
by the same death ; by the man who was raised from penury to 
plenty, or by him who was brought from happiness to misery ; 
by him whom the lust of lucre has inflamed with the most inveter- 
ate hatred against his own relations, or by him whose life was 
such that he never knew what gain was, but from the product of 
his own labors; by him, who, of all dealers in the trade of 
blood, was the most audacious, or by him who was so little 
accustomed to the forum and trials, that he dreads not only the 
benches of a court, but the very town. In short, ye judges, what 
I think most to this point is, you are to consider whether it is most 
likely that an enemy, or a son, would be guilty of this murder. 

5. As for the particular occasion of these [charity] schools, 
there cannot any offer more worthy a generous mind. Would 
you do a handsome thing without return ? — do it for an infant 
that is not sensible of the obligation.* Would you do it for the 

* Disjunctive or is understood. ,, 



112 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. V. 

public good? — do it for one who will be an honest artificer 
Would you do it for the sake of Heaven ? — give it for one who 
shall be instructed in the worship of Him for whose sake you 
gave it. 

EXERCISE V. 

(See 82, Rule II.) 

349. The direct Question has the rising Inflection, and 
the Answer has the falling. 

1. Will the Lord cast off forever ? and will he be favorable no 
more ? Is his mercy clean gone forever ? Doth his promise fail 
forevermore ? Hath God forgotten to be gracious ? Hath he in 
anger shut up his tender mercies ? 

2. Is not this the carpenter's son ? is not his mother called 
Mary ? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and 
Judas ? and his sisters, are they not all with us ? 

3. Are we intended for actors in the grand drama of eternity ? 
Are we candidates for the plaudit of the rational creation ? Are 
we formed to participate the supreme beatitude in communicat- 
ing happiness ? Are we destined to cooperate with God in ad- 
vancing the order and perfection of his works ? How sublime a 
creature then is man ! 

4. Can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual prog- 
ress of improvement, and travelling on from perfection to per- 
fection, after having just looked abroad into the works of his 
Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite goodness, 
wisdom, and power, must perish at his first setting out, and in the 
very beginning of his inquiries ? 

The following are examples of both question and answer. 

5. Who are the persons that are most apt to fall into peevish- 
ness and dejection — that are continually complaining of the 
world, and see nothing but wretchedness around them ? Are 
they those whom want compels to toil for their daily bread ? — 
who have no treasure but the labor of their hands ? — who rise, 



EX. V.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 113 

with the rising sun, to expose themselves to all the rigors of the 
seasons, unsheltered from the winter's cold, and unshaded from 
the summer's heat ? No. The labors of such are the very bless- 
ings of their condition. 

6. What, then, what was Caesar's object ? Do we select ex- 
tortioners, to enforce the laws of equity ? Do we make choice of 
profligates, to guard the morals of society ? Do we depute athe- 
ists, to preside over the rites of religion ? I will not press the 
answer : I need not press the answer ; the premises of my argu- 
ment render it unnecessary. — What would content you ? Tal- 
ent ? No ! Enterpi'ise ? No ! Courage ? No ! Reputation ? 
No ! Virtue ? No ! The men whom you would select, should 
possess, not one, but all of these. 

7. Can the truth be discovered when the slaves of the prose- 
cutor are brought as witnesses against the person accused ? Let 
us hear now what kind of an examination this was. Call in Rus- 
cio : call in Casca. Did Clodius waylay Milo ? He did : Drag 
them instantly to execution. — He did not : Let them have their 
liberty. What can be more satisfactory than this method of 
examination ? 

8. Are you desirous that your talents and abilities may procure 
you respect? Display them not ostentatiously to public view. 
Would you escape the envy which your riches might excite ? 
Let them not minister to pride, but adorn them with humility. — 
There is not an evil incident to human nature for which the gospel 
doth not provide a remedy. Are you ignorant of many things 
which it highly concerns you to know ? The gospel offers you 
instruction. Have you deviated from the path of duty? The 
gospel offers you forgiveness. Do temptations surround you ? 
The gospel offers you the aid of Heaven. Are you exposed to 
misery ? It consoles you. Are you subject to death ? It offers 
you immortality. 

9. O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 

The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ? 
Why, so didst thdu : or seem they grave and learned ? 
Why, so didst thou : come they of noble family ? 
10* 



114 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. VI. VII. 

Why, so didst thou : seem they religious ? 
Why, so didst thou. 

EXERCISE VI. 

(See 82, Note 1.) 

350. When Or is used conjunctively, it has the same 
Inflection before and after it. 

In some sentences, the disjunctive and the conjunctive use of or are so 
intermingled as to require careful attention to distinguish them. 

1. Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow ? 
or will he harrow the valleys after thee ? Wilt thou trust him 
because his strength is great ? or wilt thou leave thy labor to him ? 
Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks ? or wings and 
feathers unto the ostrich ? Canst thou draw out leviathan with a 
hook ? or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down ? Canst 
thou put a hook into his nose ? or bore his jaw through with a 
thorn ? Wilt thou play with him as with a bird ? or wilt thou 
bind him for thy maidens ? Canst thou fill his skin with barbed 
irons ? or his head with fish spears ? 

2. But should these credulous infidels, after all, be in the right, 
and this pretended revelation be all a fable, — from believing it 
what harm could ensue ? Would it render princes more tyran- 
nical, or subjects more ungovernable, the rich more insolent, or 
the poor more disorderly ? Would it make worse parents, or 
children ; husbands, or wives ; masters, or servants ; friends, or 
neighbors ? or * would it not make men more virtuous, and, con* 
sequently, more happy in even* situation ? 

EXERCISE VII. 

(See 83, Rule III.) 

351. Negation opposed to Affirmation. 

1. True charity is not a meteor, which occasionally glares ; 
but a luminary, which, in its orderly and regular course, dispenses 
a benignant influence. 

* The last or is disjunctive. 



EX. VII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 115 

2. The humble do not necessarily regard themselves as the 
unworthiest of all with whom they are acquainted ; but while 
they acknowledge and admire, in many, a degree of excellence 
which they have not attained, they perceive, even in those to 
whom they are in some respect superiors, much to praise, and 
much to imitate. 

3. Think not that the influence of devotion is confined to the 
retirement of the closet, and the assemblies of the saints. Imagine 
not, that, unconnected with the duties of life, it is suited only to 
those enraptured souls, whose feelings, perhaps, you deride as 
romantic and visionary. It is the guardian of innocence — it is 
the instrument of virtue — it is a mean by which every good 
affection may be formed and improved. 

4. Caesar, who would not wait the conclusion of the consul's 
speech, generously replied, that he came into Italy not to injure 
the liberties of Rome and its citizens, but to restore them. 

5. If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus 
Christ the righteous : and he is the propitiation for our sins ; and 
not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world. 

6. It is not the business of virtue to extirpate the affections of 
the mind, but to regulate them. 

7. These things I say now, not to insult one who is fallen, but 
to render more secure those who stand ; not to irritate the hearts 
of the wounded, but to preserve those who are not yet wounded, 
in sound health ; not to submerge him who is tossed on the bil- 
lows, but to instruct those sailing before a propitious breeze, that 
they may not be plunged beneath the waves. 

8. But this is no time for a tribunal of justice, but for showing 
mercy ; not for accusation, but for philanthropy ; not for trial, but 
for pardon ; not for sentence and execution, but compassion and 
kindness. 



116 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. VIII. 



EXERCISE VIII. 

(See 83, Note 1.) 

352. Comparison and Contrast. 

1. By honor, and dishonor ; by evil report, and good report ; 
as deceivers, and yet true ; as unknown, and yet well known ; as 
d^ing, and behold we live ; as chastened, and not killed ; as sor- 
rowful, yet always rejoicing ; as poor, yet making many rich ; as 
having nothing, yet possessing all things. 

Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers ; for what 
fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness ? and what 
communion hath light with darkness ? and what concord hath 
Christ with Belial ? or what part hath he that believeth with an 
infidel ? 

2. The house of the wicked shall be overthrown ; but the 
tabernacle of the upright shall flourish. There is a way which 
seemeth right unto a man ; but the end thereof are the ways of 
death. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; and the end of 
that mirth is heaviness. A wise man feareth, and departeth from 
evil ; but the fool rageth, and is confident. The wicked is driven 
away in his wickedness ; but the righteous hath hope in his death. 
Righteousness exalteth a nation ; but sin is a reproach to any 
people. The king's favor is towards a wise servant ; but his 
wrath is against him that causeth shame. 

3. Between fame and true honor a distinction is to be made. 
The former is a blind and noisy applause ; the latter a more 
silent and internal homage. Fame floats on the breath of the 
multitude ; honor rests on the judgment of the thinking. Fame 
may give praise, while it withholds esteem ; true honor implies 
esteem, mingled with respect. The one regards particular dis- 
tinguished talents ; the other looks up to the whole character. 

4. The most frightful disorders arose from the state of feudal 
anarchy. Force decided all things. Europe was one great field 
of battle, where the weak struggled for freedom, and the strong 
for dominion. The king was without power, and the nobles with- 



EX. VIII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 117 

out principle. They were tyrants at home, and robbers abroad. 
Nothing remained to be a check upon ferocity and violence. 

5. These two qualities, delicacy and correctness, mutually im- 
ply each other. No taste can be exquisitely delicate without 
being correct ; nor can be thoroughly correct without being 
delicate. But still a predominancy of one or other quality in the 
mixture is often visible. The power of delicacy is chiefly seen 
in discerning the true merit of a work ; the power of correctness 
in rejecting false pretensions to merit. Delicacy leans more to 
feeling ; correctness more to reason and judgment. The former 
is more the gift of nature ; the latter, more the product of culture 
and art. Among the ancient critics, Longinus possessed most 
delicacy ; Aristotle, most correctness. Among the moderns, Mr. 
Addison is a high example of delicate taste ; Dean Swift, had he 
written on the subject of criticism, would perhaps have afforded 
the example of a correct one. 

6. Reason, eloquence, and every art which ever has been 
studied among mankind, may be abused, and may prove danger- 
ous in the hands of bad men ; but it were perfectly childish to 
contend, that, upon this account, they ought to be abolished. 

7. To Bourdaloue, the French critics attribute more solidity and 
close reasoning ; to Massillon, a more pleasing and engaging 
manner. Bourdaloue is indeed a great reasoner, and inculcates 
his doctrines with much zeal, piety, and earnestness ; but his style 
is verbose, he is disagreeably full of quotations from the Fathers, 
and he wants imagination. 

8. Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better artist : in 
the one, we most admire the man ; in the other, the work. Ho- 
mer hurries us with a commanding impetuosity ; Virgil leads us 
with an attractive majesty. Homer scatters with a generous pro- 
fusion ; Virgil bestows with a careful magnificence. Homer, like 
the Nile, pours out his riches with a sudden overflow ; Virgil, like 
a river in its banks, with a constant stream. And when we look 
upon their machines, Homer seems, like his own Jupiter in his 
terrors, shaking Olympus, scattering the lightnings, and firing the 
heavens ; Virgil, like the same power in his benevolence, coun- 



118 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. VIII. 

selling with the gods, laying plans for empires, and ordering his 
whole creation. 

9. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature, and Pope 
in his local manners. The notions of Dryden were formed by 
comprehensive speculation, those of Pope by minute attention. 
There is more dignity in the knowledge of Dryden, and more 
certainty in that of Pope. 

Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both excelled like- 
wise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his prede- 
cessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied ; that of 
Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of his 
own mind ; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of compo- 
sition. Dryden is sometimes vehement, and rapid ; Pope is 
always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a natu- 
ral field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied 
exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet lawn, 
shaven by the scythe, and levelled by the roller. Dryden's per- 
formances were always hasty ; either excited by some external 
occasion, or extorted by domestic necessity : he composed without 
consideration, and published without correction. What his mind 
could supply at call, or gather in one excursion, was all that he 
sought and all that he gave. The dilatory caution of Pope en- 
abled him to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and 
to accumulate all that study might produce, or chance might 
supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher, Pope 
continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire the blaze is 
brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular and constant. Dry- 
den often surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls -below it. 
Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope with per- 
petual delight. 

10. Never before were so many opposing interests, passions, 
and principles, committed to such a decision. On one side an 
attachment to the ancient order of things, on the other a passion- 
ate desire of change ; a wish in some to perpetuate, in others to 
destroy every thing ; every abuse sacred in the eyes of the 
former, every foundation attempted to be demolished by the 



EX. IX.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 119 

latter ; a jealousy of power shrinking from the slightest innova- 
tion, pretensions to freedom pushed to madness and anarchy ; 
superstition in all its dotage, impiety in all its fury ; whatever, in 
short, could be found most discordant in the principles, or violent 
in the passions, of men, were the fearful ingredients which the 
hand of divine justice selected to mingle in this furnace of wrath. 

EXERCISE IX. 

(See 84, Rule IV.) 

353. The Pause of Suspension requires the Rising Slide. 

In the Analysis, several kinds of sentences are classed, to which this rule 
applies. But as the principle is the same in all, no distinction is necessary in 
the exercises. 

1. Now in the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, 
Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, and Herod being tetrarch 
of Galilee, and his brother Philip tetrarch of Iturea and of the 
region of Trachonitis, and Lysanias the tetrarch of Abilene, An- 
nas and Caiaphas being the high priests, the word of God came 
unto John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness. 

2. For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them 
down to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be 
reserved unto judgment ; And spared not the old world, but saved 
Noah, the eighth person, a preacher of righteousness, bringing in 
the flood upon the world of the ungodly ; and turning the cities 
of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes, condemning them with an 
overthrow, making them an ensample unto those that after should 
live ungodly ; And delivered just Lot, vexed with the filthy con- 
versation of the wicked : (For that righteous man dwelling among 
them, in seeing and hearing, vexed his righteous soul from day to 
day with their unlawful deeds ; ) The Lord knoweth how to de- 
liver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto 
the day of judgment to be punished. 

3. I am content to waive the argument I might draw from 
hence in favor of my client, whose destiny was so peculiar, that 
he could not secure his own safety, without securing yours and 



120 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. IX. 

that of the republic at the same time. If he could not do it law- 
fully, there is no room for attempting his defence. But if reason 
teaches the learned, necessity the barbarian, common custom all 
nations in general ; and if even nature itself instructs the brutes 
to defend their bodies, limbs, and lives, when attacked, by all pos- 
sible methods ; you cannot pronounce this action criminal, with- 
out determining, at the same time, that whoever falls into the hands 
of a highwayman, must of necessity perish either by his sword or 
your decisions. Had Milo been of this opinion, he would cer- 
tainly have chosen to fall by the hand of Clodius, who had more 
than once, before this, made an attempt upon his life, rather than 
be executed by your order, because he had not tamely yielded 
himself a victim to his rage. But if none of you are of this opin- 
ion, the proper question is, not whether Clodius was killed, — for 
that we grant, — but whether justly or unjustly ; an inquiry of 
which many precedents are to be found. 

4. Seeing, then, that the soul has many different faculties, or, in 
other words, many different ways of acting ; that it can be in- 
tensely pleased or made happy by all these different faculties, or 
ways of acting ; that it may be endowed with several latent facul- 
ties, which it is not at present in a condition to exert ; that we 
cannot believe the soul is endowed with any faculty which is of 
no use to it ; that whenever any one of these faculties is tran- 
scendency pleased, the soul is in a state of happiness ; and in the 
last place, considering that the happiness of another world is to 
be the happiness of the whole man ; who can question but that 
there is an infinite variety in those pleasures we are speaking of; 
and that this fulness of joy will be made up of all those pleasures 
which the nature of the soul is capable of receiving ? 

5. When the gay and smiling aspect of things has begun to 
leave the passages to a man's heart thus thoughtlessly unguarded ; 
when kind and caressing looks of every object without, that can 
flatter his senses, have conspired with the enemy within, to betray 
him and put him off his defence ; when Music likewise hath lent 
her aid, and tried her power upon the passions ; when the voice 
of singing men, and the voice of singing women, with the sound 



EX. IX.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 121 

of the viol and the late, have broke in upon his soul, and in some 
tender notes have touched the secret springs of rapture, — that 
moment let us dissect and look into his heart ; see how vain, how 
weak, how empty a thing it is ! 

6. Besides the ignorance of masters who teach the first rudi- 
ments of reading, and the want of skill or negligence in that arti- 
cle, of those who teach the learned languages ; besides the erro- 
neous manner, which the untutored pupils fall into, through the 
want of early attention in masters to correct small faults in the 
beginning, which increase and gain strength with years ; besides 
bad habits contracted from imitation of particular persons, or the 
contagion of example, from a general prevalence of a certain tone 
or cant in reading or reciting, peculiar to each school, and regu- 
larly transmitted from one generation of boys to another ; besides 
all these, which are fruitful sources of vicious elocution, there is 
one fundamental error in the method universally used in teaching 
to read, which at first gives a wrong bias, and leads us ever after 
blindfold from the right path, under the guidance of a false rule. 

7. The bounding of Satan over the walls of paradise, his sitting 
in the shape of a cormorant upon the tree of life, which stood in 
the centre of it, and overtopped all the other trees in the garden ; 
his alighting among the herd of animals, which are so beautifully 
represented as playing about Adam and Ewe, together with his 
transforming himself into different shapes, in order to hear their 
conversation, are circumstances that give an agreeable surprise 
to the reader, and are devised with great art, to connect that 
series of adventures, in which the poet has engaged this artifice 
of fraud. 

8. To find the nearest way from truth to truth ; or from pur- 
pose to effect ; not to use more instruments where fewer will be 
sufficient ; not to move by wheels and levers, what will give way 
to the naked hand, is the great proof of a healthful and vigorous 
mind, neither feeble with helpless ignorance, nor overburdened 
with unwieldy knowledge. 

9. A guilty or discontented mind, a mind ruffled by ill fortune, 
disconcerted by its own passions, soured by neglect or fretting at 

11 



122 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. IX. 

disappointments, hath no leisure to attend to the necessity or rea- 
sonableness of a kindness desired, nor a taste for those pleasures 
which wait on beneficence, which demand a calm and unpolluted 
heart to relish them. 

10. " I perfectly remember that when Claudius prosecuted 
Q. Gallius for an attempt to poison him, and pretended that he had 
the plainest proofs of it, and could produce many letters, witnesses, 
informations, and other evidences to put the truth of his charge be- 
yond a doubt, interspersing many sensible and ingenious remarks 
on the nature of the crime ; I remember," says Cicero, u that when 
it came to my turn to reply to him, after urging every argument 
which the case itself suggested, I insisted upon it as a material 
circumstance in favor of my client, that the prosecutor, while he 
charged him with a design against his life, and assured us that he 
had the most indubitable proof of it then in his hands, related his 
story with as much ease, and as much calmness and indifference, 
as if nothing had happened." " Would it have been possible," 
exclaimed Cicero, (addressing himself to Claudius,) "that you 
should speak with this air of unconcern, unless the charge was 
purely an invention of your own? — and above all, that you, 
whose eloquence has often vindicated the wrongs of other people 
with so much spirit, should speak so coolly of a crime which 
threatened your life ? " 

11. France and England may each of them have some reason 
to dread the increase of the naval and military power of the 
other ; but for either of them to envy the internal happiness and 
prosperity of the other, the cultivation of its lands, the advance- 
ment of its manufactures, the increase of its commerce, security 
and number of its ports and harbors, its proficiency in all the 
liberal arts and sciences, is surely beneath the dignity of two such 
great nations. 

12. To acquire a thorough knowledge of our own hearts and 
characters, — to restrain every irregular inclination, — to subdue 
every rebellious passion, — to purify the motives of our conduct, 
— to form ourselves to that temperance which no pleasure can 
seduce, — to that meekness which no provocation can ruffle, — to 



EX. IX.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 123 

that patience which no affliction can overwhelm, and that integrity 
which no interest can shake ; this is the task which is assigned to 
us, — a task which cannot be performed without the utmost dili- 
gence and care. 

13. The beauty of a plain, the greatness of a mountain, the 
ornament of a building, the expression of a picture, the composi- 
tion of a discourse, the conduct of a third person, the proportion 
of different quantities and numbers, the various appearances 
which the great machine of the universe is perpetually exhibiting, 
the secret wheels and springs which produce them, all the gen- 
eral subjects of science and taste, are what we and our com- 
panions regard as having no peculiar relation to either of us. 

14. Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, 

Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, 

View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 

And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
5 Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 

And without sneering teach the rest to sneer ; 

Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 

Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 

Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
10 A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 

Dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged, 

And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged, 

Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 

And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
15 While Wits and Templars every sentence raise, 

And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 

Who but must laugh, if such a man there be ? 

Who would not weep, if n Atticus were he ! 

15. For these reasons, the senate and people of A'thens (with 
due veneration to the gods, and heroes, and guardians of the 
Athenian city and territory, whose aid they now implore ; and 
with due attention to the virtue of their ancestors, to whom the 
general liberty of Greece was ever dearer than the particular 



124 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. IX. X. 

interest of their own state) have resolved that a fleet of two hun- 
dred vessels shall be sent to sea, the admiral to cruise within the 
straits of Thermopylae. 

16. As to my own abilities in speaking, (for I shall admit this 
charge, although experience hath convinced me, that what is 
called the power of eloquence depends for the most part upon the 
hearers, and that the characters of public speakers are determined 
by the degree of favor which you vouchsafe to each,) — if long 
practice, I say, hath given me any proficiency in speaking, you 
have ever found it devoted to my country.* 

Of the various exceptions which fall under the rule of suspending inflection, 
the only one which needs additional exemplification, is that, where emphasis 
requires the intensive falling slide, to express the true sense. See p. 41. In some 
cases of this sort, the omission of the falling slide only weakens the meaning ; 
in others, it subverts it. 

1. If the population of this country were to remain stationary, 
a great increase of effort would be necessary to supply each 
family with a Bible ; how much more when this population is 
increasing every day ! 

2. The man who cherishes a strong ambition for preferment, 
if he does not fall into adulation and servility, is in danger of 
losing all manly independence. 

3. For if the mighty works which have been done in thee had 
been done in Sodom,i it would have remained unto this day. 



EXERCISE X. 

(See 86, Rule V.) 

354. Tender Emotion inclines the Voice to the Rising 

Slide. 

1. And when Joseph came home, they brought him the present 
which was in their hand into the house, and bowed themselves to 

* I have not thought it necessary to give examples of the cases in which 
emphasis requires the falling slide at the close of a parenthesis. 

T Even in Sodom, is the paraphrase of this emphasis, and so in the two pre- 
ceding examples. 



EX. X.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 125 

him to the earth. And he asked them of their welfare, and said, 
Is your father well, the old man of whom ye spake ? Is he yet 
alive ? — And they answered, Thy servant our father is in good 
health, he is yet alive ; and they bowed down their heads, and 
made obeisance. — And he lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother 
Benjamin, his mother's son, and said, Is this your younger brother, 
of whom ye spake unto me ? And he said, God be gracious unto 
thee, my son. — And Joseph made haste ; for his bowels did 
yearn upon his brother : and he sought where to weep ; and he 
entered into his chamber, and wept there. 

2. Methinks I see a fair and lovely child, 
Sitting composed upon his mother's knee, 
And reading with a low and lisping voice 
Some passage from the Sabbath ; * while the tears 
5 Stand in his little eyes so softly blue, 

Till, quite o'ercome with pity, his white arms 
He twines around her neck, and hides his sighs 
Most infantine within her gladdened breast, 
Like a sweet lamb, half sportive, half afraid, 

10 Nestling one moment 'neath its bleating dam. 
And now the happy mother kisses oft 
The tender-hearted child, lays down the book, 
And asks him if he doth remember still 
A stranger who once gave him, long ago, 

15 A parting kiss, and blessed his laughing eyes ; 
His sobs speak fond remembrance, and he weeps 
To think so kind and good a man should die. 

3. Ye who have anxiously and fondly watched 
Beside a fading friend, unconscious still 
The cheek's bright crimson, lovely to the view, 
Like nightshade, with unwholesome beauty bloomed, 
5 And that the sufferer's bright, dilated eye, 
Like mouldering wood, owes to decay alone 



* Sabbath, — a poem. 
11* 



126 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XI. XII. 

Its wondrous lustre ; — ye who still have hoped, 
Even in death's dread presence, but at length 
Have heard the summons, (O heart-freezing call ! ) 

10 To pay the last sad duties, and to hear 
Upon the silent dwelling's narrow lid 
The first earth thrown, (sound deadliest to the soul ! — 
For, strange delusion ! then, and then alone, 
Hope seems forever fled, and the dread pang 

15 Of final separation to begin) — 

Ye who have felt all this — O, pay my verse 
The mournful meed of sympathy, and own, 
Own with a sigh, the sombre picture 's just. 

EXERCISE XI. 
(See 91, Rulo VI.) 

This requires no additional illustration; for, unless emphasis forbids it, 
every good reader has so much regard to harmony, as to use the rising slide at 
the pause before the cadence. 

EXERCISE XII. 

(See 92, Rule VII.) 

355. The Indirect Question and its Answer have the 
Falling Inflection. 

The interrogative mark is here inverted, to render it significant of its office, 
in distinction from the direct question, which turns the voice upward. The 
reason of this is so obvious, that I trust it will not be regarded, in a work like 
this, as an affectation of singularity in trifles. 

1. The governor answered and said unto them, Whether of 
the twain will ye that I release unto you i They said, Barab- 
bas. Pilate saith unto them, What shall I do then with Jesus, 
which is called Christ <; They all say unto him, Let him be 
crucified. And the governor said, Why j what evil hath he 
done i But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be cru- 
cified. 

2. Where now is the splendid robe of the consulate <? Where 



EX. XII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 127 

are the brilliant torches <; Where are the applauses and dances, 
the feasts and entertainments <; Where are the coronets and 
canopies ^ Where the huzzas of the city, the compliments of 
the circus, and the flattering acclamations of the spectators ^ All 
these have perished. 

3. I hold it to be an unquestionable position, that they who 
duly appreciate the blessings of liberty, revolt as much from the 
idea of exercising, as from that of enduring, oppression. How 
far this was the case with the Romans, you may inquire of those 
nations that surrounded them. Ask them, ' What insolent guard 
paraded before their gates, and invested their strong holds,;' They 
will answer, ' A Roman legionary.' Demand of them, 4 What 
greedy extortioner fattened by their poverty, and clothed himself 
by their nakedness £ ' They will inform you, ' A Roman Quaes- 
tor.' Inquire of them, ' What imperious stranger issued to them 
his mandates of imprisonment or confiscation, of banishment or 
death ^ ' They will reply to you, ' A Roman Consul.' Question 
them, ' What haughty conqueror led through his city their nobles 
and kings in chains ; and exhibited their countrymen, by thou- 
sands, in gladiators' shows for the amusement of his fellow-citi- 
zens ,; ' They will tell you, ' A Roman General.' Require of 
them, ' What tyrants imposed the heaviest yoke <; — enforced the 
most rigorous exactions ; — inflicted the most savage punishment, 
and showed the greatest gust for blood and torture ^ ' They will 
exclaim to you, ' The Roman people.' 

4. Let us now consider the principal point, whether the place 
where they encountered was most favorable to Milo, or to Clodius. 
Were the affair to be represented only by painting, instead of 
being expressed by words, it would even then clearly appear 
which was the traitor, and which was free from all mischievous 
designs. When the one was sitting in his chariot muffled up in 
his cloak, and his wife along with him ; which of these circum- 
stances was not a very great encumbrance ^ the dress, the char- 
iot, or the companion <; How could he be worse equipped for an 
engagement, when he was wrapped up in a cloak, embarrassed with 
a chariot, and almost fettered by his wife < Observe the other 



128 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XII. 

now, in the first place, sallying out on a sudden from his seat ; for 
what reason £ — in the evening ; what urged him { — late : to 
what purpose, especially at that season < — He calls at Pompey's 
seat ; with what view <; To see Pompey ? He knew he was at 
x Alsium. — To see his house? He had been in it a thousand 
times. What then could be the reason of this loitering and shift- 
ing about ? He wanted to be upon the spot when Milo came up. 

5. Wherefore cease we then i 
Say they who counsel war, We are decreed, 
Reserved, and destined, to eternal woe ; 
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, 
5 What can we suffer worse <; Is this then worst, 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms «; 
What ! when we fled amain, pursued and struck 
With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 
The deep to shelter us — this hell then seemed 

10 A refuge from those wounds : or when we lay 

Chained on the burning lake — that sure was worse. 
What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires, 
Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, 
And plunge us in the flames i or from above 

15 Should intermitted Vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague us <; what if all 
Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 

20 One day upon our heads ! while we perhaps 
Designing or exhorting glorious war, 
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
Of wracking whirlwinds ; or forever sunk 

25 Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains ; 
There to converse with everlasting groans, 
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 
Ages of hopeless end ! This would be worse. 



EX. XII. XIII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 129 

6. But, first, whom shall we send 
In search of this new world { whom shall we find 
Sufficient $ who shall tempt with wandering feet 
The dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss, 
5 And through the palpable obscure find out 
His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight, 
Upborne with indefatigable wings, 
Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive 
The happy isle <? what strength, what art, can then 

15 Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe 

Through the strict senteries and stations thick 
Of angels watching round $ Here he had need 
All circumspection, and we now no less 
. Choice in our suffrage ; for on whom we send 

20 The weight of all, and our last hope, relies. 

EXERCISE XIII. 

(See 96, Rule VIII.) 

356. Language of Authority and of Surprise commonly 
requires the falling inflection. denunciation, repre- 
hension, etc., come under this head. 

1. Go to the ant, thou sluggard ; consider her ways, and be 
wise ? — which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her 
meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest. How 
long wilt thou sleep, O sluggard ? when wilt thou arise out of thy 
sleep ? — Yet a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the 
hands to sleep : — So shall thy poverty come as one that travel- 
leth, and thy want as an armed man. 

2. And when the king came in to see the guests, he saw there 
a man that had not on a wedding garment : — And he saith 
unto him, Friend, how earnest thou in hither, not having a wedding 
garment ? — And he was speechless. — Then said the king to the 
servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast 
him into outer darkness : there shall be weeping and gnashing of 
teeth. 



130 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XIII. 

3. Then he which had received the one talent came, and said, 
Lord, I knew thee that thou art a hard man, reaping where thou 
hast not sown, and gathering where thou hast not strewed : — And 
I was afraid, and went and hid thy talent in the earth : lo, there 
thou hast that is thine. — His lord answered and said unto him, 
Thou wicked and slothful servant, — thou knewest that I reap 
where I sowed not,* and gather where I have not strewed : — 
Thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers, 
and then at my coming I should have received mine own with 
usury. — Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto 
him which hath ten talents. — And cast ye the unprofitable ser- 
vant into outer darkness : there shall be weeping and gnashing 
of teeth. 

4. Then began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his 
mighty works were done, because they repented not. — Woe unto 
thee, Chorazin ! woe unto thee, Bethsaida ! for if the mighty 
works which were done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon,t 
they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. — But 
I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon, at 
the day of judgment, than for you. — And thou, Capernaum, 
which art exalted unto heaven, shalt be brought down to hell ; for 
if the mighty works which have been done in thee had been done 
in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. — But I say 
unto you, That it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom, 
in the day of judgment, than for thee. 

5. Such, sir, was once the disposition of a people who now 
surround your throne with reproaches and complaints. Do justice 
to yourself. Banish from your mind those unworthy opinions 
with which some interested persons have labored to possess you. 
Distrust the men who tell you that the English are naturally light 
and inconstant ; that they complain without a cause. Withdraw 
your confidence equally from all parties ; from ministers, favorites, 

* This clause, uttered with a high note and the falling slide, expresses cen- 
sure better with the common punctuation, than if it were marked with the 
interrogation. 

f Even in Tyre and Sidon, is the paraphrase of the emphasis. 



EX. XIII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 131 

and relations ; and let there be one moment in your life, in 
which you have consulted your own understanding. 

6. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, 

For I am armed so strong in honesty, 

That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
5 Which I respect not. I did send to you 

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me : — 

For I can raise no money by vile means ; 

— I had rather coin my heart, 

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
10 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 

By any indirection. I did send 

To you for gold to pay my legions, 

Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius ? 

Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
15 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 

To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 

Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 

Dash him to pieces ! 

7. The war, that for a space did fail, 
Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 

And — Stanley ! was the cry ; — 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 
With dying hand, above his head, 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted, " Victory ! 
Charge, Chester, charge ! on, Stanley, on ! " 
Were the last words of Marmion ! 

8. So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrath, 
Which thou incurr'st by flying, meet thy flight 
Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to hell, 



132 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XIII. 

Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain 
5 Can equal anger infinite provoked. 

But wherefore thou alone ? wherefore with thee 
Came not all hell broke loose ? Is pain to them 
Less pain, less to be fled ? or thou than they 
Less hardy to endure ? Courageous chief ! 
10 The first in flight from pain ! Hadst thou alleged 
To thy deserted host this cause of flight, 
Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive. 

9. To whom the warrior angel soon replied : 
To say, and straight unsay, pretending first 
Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, 
Argues no leader, but a liar traced, 

5 Satan — and couldst thou faithful add ? O name, 

O sacred name of faithfulness profaned ! 

Faithful to whom ? to thy rebellious crew ? 

Army of fiends ! — fit body to fit head ! 

Was this your discipline and faith engaged, 
10 Your military obedience, to dissolve 

Allegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme 

And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem 

Patron of liberty, who more than thou 

Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored 
15 Heaven's awful Monarch ? wherefore, but in hope 

To dispossess him, and thyself to reign ; 

But mark what I arreed thee now ; — A vaunt : 

Fly thither whence thou fled'st : if from this hour, 

Within these hallowed limits thou appear, 
20 Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chained, 

And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scorn 

The facile gates of hell too slightly barred. 

Apostrophe and exclamation, as well as the imperative mood, when accom- 
panied by emphasis, incline the voice to the falling inflection. 

10. O, deep-enchanting prelude to repose, 
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 



EX. XIII.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 133 

Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, 

It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
5 Mysterious worlds ! untravelled by the sun, 

Where Time's far- wandering tide has never run, 

From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, 

A warning comes, unheard by other ears — 

'Tis heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
10 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 

Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume 

The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 

Melt and dispel, ye spectre doubts, that roll 

Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! 
15 Fly v , like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, 

Chased on his night-steed, by the star of day ! 

The strife is o'er ! — the pangs of nature close, 

And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes ! 

Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
20 The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze, 

On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, 

Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 

Wild as the hallowed anthem sent to hail 

Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
25 When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still 

Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 

11. — Piety has found 

Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 
Has flowed from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage ! 
5 Sagacious reader of the Works of God, 
And in his Word sagacious. Such too thine, 
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, 
And fed on manna. And such thine in whom 
Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
10 Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment praised, 
12 



134 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XIII. 

And sound integrity, not more, than famed 
For sanctity of manners undefiled. 

12. These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 
Almighty, thine, this universal frame, 
Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous then ! 
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens 
5 To us invisible, or dimly seen 

In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
'Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 

10 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in heaven, 
On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol 
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. 
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 

15 If better thou belong not to the dawn, 

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn 
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 

20 Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st. 
Moon, that now meefst the orient Sun, now fly'st 
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, 

25 And ye five other wandering Fires, that move 
In mystic dance, not without song, resound 
His praise, who out of darkness called up light. 
'Air, and ye 'Elements, the eldest birth 
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run 

30 Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix, 

And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 



EX. XIII. XIV.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 135 

His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow, 
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye Pines, 

35 With every plant, in sign of worship, wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, 
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise. 
Join voices all, ye living Souls : ye Birds, 
That singing up to Heaven gate ascend, 

40 Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praise. 

EXERCISE XIV. 

(See 103, Rule IX., and Notes 1, 2, &c.) 

357. Emphatic Succession of Particulars requires the 
Falling Slide. 

103, Rule IX., Note 3, should be examined before reading this class of exer- 
cises. 

1. He answered and said unto them, He that soweth the good 
seed is the Son of man ; the field is the world ; the good seed are 
the children of the kingdom ; but the tares are the children of the 
wicked one ; the enemy that sowed them is the devil ; the har- 
vest is the end of the world ; and the reapers are the angels. 

2. For to one is given, by the Spirit, the word of wisdom ; to 
another, the word of knowledge, by the same Spirit ; to another, 
faith, by the same Spirit ; to another, the gifts of healing, by the 
same Spirit ; to another, the working of miracles ; to another, 
prophecy ; to another, discerning of spirits ; to another, divers 
kinds of tongues ; to another, the interpretation of tongues. 

3. Rejoice evermore, pray without ceasing : — in every thing 
give thanks ; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning 
you. Quench not the Spirit : — Despise not prophesyings. — 
Prove all things ; hold fast that which is good. 

4. As virtue is the most reasonable and genuine source of 
honor, we generally find in titles an imitation of some particular 
merit, that should recommend men to the high stations which they 
possess. Holiness is ascribed to the pope ; majesty, to kings ; 
serenity, or mildness of temper, to princes ; excellence, or per- 



136 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XIV. 

fection, to ambassadors ; grace, to archbishops ; honor, to peers ; 
worship, or venerable behavior, to magistrates ; and reverence, 
which is of the same import as the former, to the inferior clergy. 

5. It pleases me to think that I, who know so small a portion 
of the works of the Creator, and with slow and painful steps creep 
up and down on the surface of this globe, shall, ere long, shoot 
away with the swiftness of imagination ; trace out the hidden 
springs of nature's operations ; be able to keep pace with the 
heavenly bodies in the rapidity of their career ; be a spectator of 
the long chain of events in the natural and moral worlds ; visit 
the several apartments of creation ; know how they are furnished 
and how inhabited ; comprehend the order and measure, the mag- 
nitude and distances, of those orbs, which, to us, seem disposed 
without any regular design, and set all in the same circle ; observe 
the dependence of the parts of each system ; and (if our minds 
are big enough) grasp the theory of the several systems upon one 
another, from whence results the harmony of the universe. 

6. He who cannot persuade himself to withdraw from society, 
must be content to pay a tribute of his time to a multitude of 
tyrants ; to the loiterer, who makes appointments he never keeps 
— to the consulter, who asks advice he never takes — to the 
boaster, who blusters only to be praised — to the complainer, who 
whines only to be pitied — to the projector, whose happiness is 
only to entertain his friends with expectations, which all but him- 
self know to be vain — to the economist, who tells of bargains 
and settlements — to the politician, who predicts the fate of bat- 
tles and breach of alliances — to the usurer, who compares the 
different funds — and to the talker, who talks only because he 
loves talking. 

7. That a man, to whom he was, in great measure, beholden 
for his crown, and even for his life ; a man to whom, by every 
honor and favor, he had endeavored to express his gratitude ; 
whose brother, the earl of Derby, was his ov/n father-in-law ; to 
whom he had even committed the trust of his person, by creating 
him lord chamberlain ; that a man enjoying his full confidence 
and affection ; not actuated by any motive of discontent or appre- 



EX. XIV.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 137 

hension; that this man should engage in a conspiracy- against 
him, he deemed absolutely false and incredible. 

8. I would fain ask one of those bigoted infidels, supposing all 
the great points of atheism, as the casual or eternal formation of 
the world, the materiality of a thinking substance, the mortality 
of the soul, the fortuitous organization of the body, the motion 
and gravitation of matter, with the like particulars, were laid to- 
gether, and formed into a kind of creed, according to the opinions 
of the most celebrated atheists ; I say, supposing such a creed as 
this were formed, and imposed upon any one people in the world, 
whether it would not require an infinitely greater measure of faith, 
than any set of articles which they so violently oppose. 

9. I conjure you by that which you profess, 
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down; 
Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
Of nature's germins tumble altogether, 
Ev'n till destruction sicken : answer me 
To what 1 ask you. 

This last example exhibits, by the notation, something of Garrick's manner 
in pronouncing the passage. To make this more intelligible, I add here 
"Walker's remarks accompanying the example. If Quinctilian had given me 
the same precise information respecting the turns of Cicero's voice, in some 
interesting passage of his orations, it would be no small gratification to my 
curiosity. 

" By placing the falling inflection, without dropping the voice on each par- 
ticular, and giving this inflection a degree of emphasis, increasing from the 
first member to the sixth, we shall find the whole climax wonderfully enforced 
and diversified; this was the method approved and practised by the inimitable 
Mr. Garrick ; and though it is possible that a very good actor may vary in some 
particulars from the rule, and yet pronounce the whole agreeably, it may with 
confidence be asserted that no actor can pronounce this passage to so much 
advantage as by adopting the inflections laid down in this rule." 

12* 



138 EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. [EX. XV. 



EXERCISE XV. 

(See 105, Rule X.) 

358. Emphatic Repetition requires the Falling Inflec- 
tion; THOUGH THE PRINCIPLE OF THE SUSPENDING SLIDE, OR 

of the Interrogative, may form an Exception. 

1. And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife 
to slay his son. — And the angel of the Lord called unto him out 
of heaven, and said, 'Abraham, v Abraham. And he said, Here 
am I. 

2. And the king was much moved, and went up to the cham- 
ber, over the gate, and wept ; and as he went, thus he said : O my 
son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! would God I had died 
for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son. 

3. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and 
stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have 
gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her 
chickens under her wings, and ye would not ! 

4. But the subject is too awful for irony. I will speak plainly 
and directly. Newton was a Christian ! Newton, whose mind 
burst forth from ihe fetters cast by nature upon our finite concep- 
tions — Newton, whose science was truth, and the foundation of 
whose knowledge of it was philosophy ; not those visionary and 
arrogant presumptions, which too often usurp its name, but philos- 
ophy resting upon the basis of mathematics, which, like figures, 
cannot lie — Newton, who carried the line and the rule to the 
utmost barriers of creation, and explored the principles by which, 
no doubt, all created matter is held together and exists. 

5. To die, they say, is noble — as a soldier — 
But with such guides to point th' unerring road, 
Such able guides, such arms and discipline 
As I have had, my soul would sorely feel 
5 The dreadful pang which keen reflections give, 

Should she in death's dark porch, while life was ebbing, 



EX. 



XV. XVI.] EXERCISES ON INFLECTION. 139 



Receive the judgment, and this vile reproach : — 

" Long hast thou wandered in a stranger's land, 

A stranger to thyself and to thy God ; 
10 The heavenly hills were oft within thy view, 

And oft the shepherd called thee to his flock, 

And called in vain. — A thousand monitors 

Bade thee return, and walk in wisdom's ways. 

The seasons, as they rolled, bade thee return ; 
15 The glorious sun, in his diurnal round, 

Beheld thy wandering, and bade thee return ; 

The night, an emblem of the night of death, 

Bade thee return ; the rising mounds, 

Which told the traveller where the dead repose 
20 In tenements of clay, bade thee return ; 

And at thy father's grave, the filial tear, 

Which dear remembrance gave, bade thee return, 

And dwell in Virtue's tents, on Zion's hill ! 

Here thy career be stayed, rebellious man ! 
25 Long hast thou lived a cumberer of the ground. 

Millions are shipwrecked on life's stormy coast, 

With all their charts on board, and powerful aid, 

Because their lofty pride disdained to learn 

The instructions of a pilot, and a God." 

(See 106—115.) 

On cadence, circumflex, and accent, no additional illustrations seem to be 
required in the Exercises. 



EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 

EXERCISE XVI, 

(See 115—150.) 

359. It was necessary in the Analysis to examine and exemplify, at some 
length, the difference between emphatic stress and emphatic inflection, and 
also between absolute and relative stress. The examples, however, illustrating 



140 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

these distinctions, must generally be taken from single sentences and clauses. 
But as I wish here to introduce such passages as have considerable length, I 
have concluded to arrange them all under the general head of Emphasis, leav- 
ing the reader to class particular instances of stress, and inflection, according 
to the principles laid down in the Analysis. 

1. He that planted the ear, shall he not hear ? he that formed 
the eye, shall he not see 1 — he that chastiseth the heathen, shall 
not he correct ? he that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he 
know ? 

2. The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgment with 
the men of this generation, and condemn them ; for she came 
from the utmost parts of the earth, to hear the wisdom of Solo- 
mon ; and behold a greater than Solomon is here. The men of 
Nineveh shall rise up in the judgment with this generation, and 
shall condemn it : for they repented at the preaching of Jonas ; 
and behold, a greater than Jonas is here. 

3. But when the Pharisees heard it, they said, This fellow doth 
not cast out devils, but by Beelzebub, the prince of devils. 2 And 
Jesus knew their thoughts, and said unto them, Every kingdom 
divided against itself, is brought to desolation ; and every city or 
house divided against itself shall not stand. 3 And if Satan 
cast out Satan, he is divided against himself; how shall then his 
kingdom stand ? And if I by Beelzebub cast out devils, by whom 
do your children cast them out ? therefore they shall be your 
judges. But if I cast out devils by the Spirit of God, then the 
kingdom of God is come unto you. 4 Or else how can one 
enter into a strong man's house, and spoil his goods, except he first 
bind the strong man ? and then he will spoil his house. 

4. And behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, 
saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life ? 2 He said 
unto him, What is written in the law ? how readest thou ? 3 And 
he answering, said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy 
mind ; and thy neighbor as thyself. 4 And he said unto him, 
Thou hast answered right : this do, and thou shalt live. But he, 
willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who Is my neigh- 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 141 

bor ? 5 And Jesus answering, said, A certain man went down 
from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped 
him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him 
half dead. 6 And by chance there came down a certain priest 
that way, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. 
And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked 
on him, and passed by on the other side. 7 But a certain Sa- 
maritan, as he journeyed, came where he was : and when he saw 
him, he had compassion on him, — and went to him, and bound 
up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own 
beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 8 And 
on the morrow, when he departed, he took out two pence, and 
gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him : and 
whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay 
thee. 9 Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor 
unto him that fell among the thieves ? — And he said, He that 
showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do 
thou likewise. 

5. As to those public works, so much the object of your ridi- 
cule, they undoubtedly demand a due share of honor and ap- 
plause ; but I rate them far beneath the great merit of my admin- 
istration. It is not with stones nor bricks that I have fortified the 
city. It is not from works like these that 'I derive my reputation. 
Would you know my methods of fortifying ? Examine, and you 
will find them in the arms, the towns, and territories, the harbors 
I have secured ; the navies, the troops, the armies I have raised. 

6. For if you now pronounce, that, as my public conduct hath 
not been right, Ctesiphon must stand condemned, it must be 
thought that yourselves have acted wrong, not that you owe your 
present state to the caprice of fortune. But it cannot be. JYo, 
my countrymen ! It cannot be you have acted wrong, in encoun- 
tering danger bravely, for the liberty and safety of all Greece. 
Nd ! By those generous souls of ancient times, who were ex- 
posed at Marathon ! By those who stood arrayed at Platea ! 
By those who encountered the Persian fleet at Salamis ! who 
fought at Artemisium ! By all those illustrious sons of Athens, 



142 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

whose remains lie deposited in the public monuments ! 'All of 
whom received the same honorable interment from their country : 
Not those only who prevailed, not those only who were victori- 
ous. And with reason. What was the part of gallant men they 
all performed ; their success was such as the Supreme Director 
of the world dispensed to each. 

7. Like other tyrants, death delights to smite, 

What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power, 

And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme, 

To bid the wretch survive the fortunate ; 
5 The feeble wrap the athletic in his shroud ; 

And weeping fathers build their children's tomb : 

Me thine, Narcissa ! — What though short thy date ? 

Virtue, not rolling siins, the mind matures. 

That life is long which answers life's great end. 
10 The tree that bears no fruit, deserves no name ; 

The man of wisdom is the man of years. 

Narcissa's youth has lectured me thus far. 

And can her gayety give counsel too ? 

That, like the Jews' famed oracle of gems, 
15 Sparkles instruction ; such as throws new light, 

And opens more the character of death ; 

111 known to thee, Lorenzo ! This thy vaunt : 

" Give death his due, the wretched and the old ; 

Let him not violate kind nature" 1 s laws, 
20 But own man born to live as well as die." 

Wretched and old thou giv'st him ; young and gay 

He takes ; and plunder is a tyrant's joy. 

* Fortune, with Youth and Gayety, conspired 

To weave a triple wreath of happiness, 
25 (If happiness on earth,) to crown her brow ; 

And could Death charge through such a shining shield ? 

* In this place and in many others, the connection of the author is broken 
in the selections, without notice. 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 143 

That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear, 

As if to damp our elevated aims, 

And strongly preach humility to man. 
30 O, how portentous is prosperity ! 

How, comet-like, it threatens, while it shines ! 

Few years but yield us proof of Death's ambition, 

To cull his victims from the fairest fold, 

And sheath his shafts in all the pride of life. 
35 When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er 

With recent honors, bloomed with every bliss, 

Set up in ostentation, made the gaze, 

The gaudy centre, of the public eye, — 

When Fortune thus has tossed her child in air, 
40 Snatched from the covert of an humble state, 

How often have I seen him dropped at once, 

Our morning's envy, and our evening's sigh ! 
Death loves a shining mark, a single blow ; 

A blow, which, while it executes, alarms ; 
45 And startles thousands with a single fall. 

( ) As when some stately growth of oak or pine, 

Which nods aloft, and proudly spreads her shade, 

The sun's defiance, and the flock's defence ; 

By the strong strokes of laboring hinds subdued, 
50 Loud groans her last, and rushing from her height, 

In cumberous ruin, thunders to the ground : 

The conscious forest trembles at the shock, 

And hill, and stream, and distant dale resound.* — Young. 

8. Genius and art, ambition's boasted wings, 

Our boast but ill deserve. I 

i 

If these alone I 



Assist our flight, fame^s flight is glory'* s fall. 
Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high, 



* In all the following exercises, the sign of transition and other marks of 
modulation are occasionally used. 



144 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

Our height is but the gibbet of our name. 

A celebrated wretch when I behold, 

When I behold a genius bright, and base, 

Of towering talents, and terrestrial aims, 
10 Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, 

The glorious fragments of a soul immortal, 

With rubbish mixed, and glittering in the dust. 

Struck at the splendid, melancholy sight, 

At once compassion soft, and envy rise. 

15 But wherefore envy ? Talents angel-bright, 

If wanting worth, are shining instruments 

In false ambition's hand, to finish faults 

Illustrious, and give infamy renown. 

Great ill is an achievement of great powers. 
20 Plain sense but rarely leads us far astray. 

Means have no merit, if our end amiss. 

Hearts are proprietors of all applause. 

Right ends, and means, make wisdom. Worldly wise 

Is but MZf-witted, at its highest praise. 
25 Let genius then despair to make thee great ; 

Nor flatter station. What Is station high ? 

'Tis a proud mendicant : it boasts and begs ; 

It begs an alms of homage from the throng, 

And oft the throng denies its charity. 
30 Monarchs and ministers are awful names ; 

Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir. 

Religion, public order, both exact 

External homage, and a supple knee, 

To beings pompously set up, to serve 
35 The meanest slave ; all more is merit's due, 

Her sacred and inviolable right, 

Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man. 

Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth ; 

Nor ev er fail of their allegiance there. 
40 Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account, 

And vote the mantle into majestv. 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 145 

Let the small savage boast his silver fur ; 

His royal robe unborrowed and unbought, 

His own, descending fairly from his sires. 
45 Shall man be proud to wear his livery, 

And souls in ermine scorn a soul without ? 

Can place or lessen us, or aggrandize ? 

Pygmies are pygmies still, though perched on K Alps; 

And pyramids are pyramids in vales. 
50 Each man makes his own stature, builds himself; 

Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids ; 

Her monuments shall last when Egypt? s fall. 

Thy bosom burns for power ; 

What station charms thee ? I'll install thee there ; 
55 'Tis thine. And art thou greater than before ? 

Then thou before wast something less than man. 

Has thy new post betrayed thee into pride ? 

That treacherous pride betrays thy dignity ; 

That pride defames humanity, and calls 
60 The being mean, which staffs or strings can raise. 
High worth is elevated place : 'Tis more ; 

It makes the post stand candidate for thee ; 

Makes more than monarchs, makes an honest man ; 

Though no exchequer it commands, 'tis wealth ; 
65 And though it wears no ribbon, 'tis renown ; 

Renown that would not quit thee, though disgraced, 

Nor leave thee pendent on a master's smile. 

Other ambition nature interdicts ; 

Nature proclaims it most absurd in man, 
70 By pointing at his origin, and end ; 

Milk, and a swathe, at first his whole demand ; 

His whole domain, at last, a turf, or stone ; 

To whom, between, a world may seem too small. 

Young. 
9. Nothing can make it less than mad in man 

To put forth all his ardor, all his art, 

And give his soul her full, unbounded flight, 
13 



146 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

But reaching Him, who gave her wings to fly. 
5 When blind Ambition quite mistakes her road, 
And downward pores, for that which shines above. 
Substantial happiness, and true renown ; 
Then like an idiot, gazing on the brook, 
We leap at stars, and fasten in the mud ; 

10 At glory grasp, and sink in infamy. 

Ambition ! powerful source of good and ill ! 
Thy strength in man, like length of wing in birds, 
When disengaged from earth, with greater ease 
And swifter flight transports us to the skies ; 

15 By toys entangled, or in guilt bemired, 

It turns a curse ; it is our chain, and scourge, 
In this dark dungeon, where confined we lie, 
Close grated by the sordid bars of sense ; 
All prospect of eternity shut out ; 

20 And, but for execution, ne'er set free. 

In spite of all the truths the muse has sung, 
Ne'er to be prized enough ! enough revolved ! 
Are there who wrap the world so close about them, 
They see no farther than the clouds ? and dance 

25 On heedless vanity's fantastic toe ? 

Till, stumbling at a straw, in their career, 
Headlong they plunge, where end both dance and song. 
Are there on earth (let me not call them men) 
Who lodge a soul immortal in their breasts, 

30 Unconscious as the mountain of its ore, 
Or rock of its inestimable gem ? 
When rocks shall melt, and mountains vanish, these 
Shall know their treasure ; treasure, then, no more. 
Are there (still more amazing !) who resist 

35 The rising thought ? who smother, in its birth, 
The glorious truth ? who struggle to be brutes ? 
Who through this bosom-barrier burst their way, 
And, with reversed ambition, strive to sink ? 
Who labor downwards through the opposing power 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 147 

40 O instinct, reason, and the world against them. 

To dismal hopes, and shelter in the shock 

Of endless night ? night darker than the grave's ! 

Who fight the proofs of immortality ? 

With horrid zeal, and execrable arts, 
45 Work all their engines, level their black fires, 

To blot from man this attribute divine, 

(Than vital blood far dearer to the wise,) 

Blasphemers, and rank atheists to themselves ? — Young. 

10. Look nature through, 'tis revolution all : 
All change ; no death. Day follows night ; and night 
The dying day ; stars rise, and set, and rise ; 
Earth takes the example. See, the Summer gay, 
5 With her green chaplet, and ambrosial flowers, 
Droops into pallid Autumn : Winter gray, 
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm, 
Blows Autumn and his golden fruits away ; — 
Then melts into the Spring : soft Spring, with breath 

10 Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, 
Recalls the Jirst. All, to re-flourish, fades ; 
As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend. 
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. 

Look down on earth. — What seest thou ? Wondrous 
things ! 

15 Terrestrial wonders, that eclipse the skies. 

What lengths of labored lands ; what loaded seas ! , 
Loaded by man, for pleasure, wealth, or war ! 
Seas, winds, and planets, into service brought, 
His art acknowledge, and promote his ends. 

20 Nor can the eternal rocks his will withstand : 
What levelled mountains ! and what lifted vales ! 
O'er vales and mountains, sumptuous cities swell, 
And gild our landscape with their glittering spires. 
Some 'mid the wondering waves majestic rise ; 

25 And Neptune holds a mirror to their charms. 



148 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

See wide dominions ravished from the deep ! 

The narrowed deep with indignation foams. 

How the tall temples, as to meet their gods, 

Ascend the skies ! the proud triumphal arch 
30 Shows us half heaven beneath its ample bend. 

High through mid air, here streams are taught to flow : 

Whole rivers, there, laid by in basins, sleep. 

Here plains turn oceans ; there vast oceans join 

Through kingdoms channelled deep from shore to shore : 
35 And changed creation takes its face from man. 

Earth 's disembowelled ! measured are the skies ! 

Stars are detected in their deep recess ! 

Creation widens ! vanquished nature yields ! 

Her secrets are extorted ! art prevails ! 
40 What monument of genius, spirit, power ! — Young. 

11. The world 's a prophecy of worlds to come ; 

And who, what God foretells, (who speaks in things 

Still louder than in words,) shall dare deny ? 

If nature's arguments appear too weak, 
5 Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man. 

If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees, 

Can he prove infidel to what he feels ? 

Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life ; 

Or nature there, imposing on her sons, 
10 Has written fa lies: man was made a lie. 
Why discontent forever harbored there ? 

Incurable consumption of our peace ! 

Resolve me, why the cottager and king, 

He whom sea-severed realms obey, and he 
15 Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, 

Repelling winter blasts with mud and straw, 

Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh, 

In fate so distant, in complaint so near ? 
Reason progressive, instinct is complete ; 
20 Swift instinct leaps, slow reason feebly clinibs 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 149 

Brutes soon their zenith reach ; their little all 

Flows in at once ; in ages they no more 

Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy. 

Were man to live coeval with the sun, 
25 The patriarch- pupil would be learning still ; 

Yet, dying, leave his lesson half unlearnt. 

Men perish in advance, as if the sun 

Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drowned. 

To man, why, stepdame nature ! so severe ? 
30 Why thrown aside thy master-piece half wrought, 

While meaner efforts thy last hand enjoy ? 

Or, if abortively, poor man must die, 

Nor reach what reach he might, why die in dread ? 

Why curst with foresight ? wise to misery ? 
35 Why of his proud prerogative the prey ? 

Why less preeminent in rank, than pain ? 
His immortality alone can solve 

The darkest of enigmas, human hope ; 

Of all the darkest, if at death we die. 
40 Hope, eager hope, the assassin of our joy, 

All present blessings treading under foot, 

Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair. 

With no past toils content, still planning new, 

Hope turns us o'er to death alone for ease. 
45 Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit ? 

Why is a wish far dearer than a crown ? 

That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss ? 

Because, in the great future, buried deep, 

Beyond our plans of empire and renown, 
50 Lies all that man with ardor should pursue ; 

And HE who made him, bent him to the right. 
Why beats thy bosom with illustrious dreams 

Of self-exposure, laudable, and great ? 

Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death ? 
55 Die for thy country ! Thou romantic fool ! 

Seize, seize the plank thyself, and let her sink : 
13 * 



150 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

Thy country ! what to thee ? The Godhead, what ? 

(I speak with awe ! ) though He should bid thee bleed ? 

If, with thy blood, thy final hope is spilt ; 
60 Nor can Omnipotence reward the blow : 

Be deaf; preserve thy being ; disobey. 
Since virtue's recompense is doubtful here, 

If man dies wholly, well may we demand, 

Why is man suffered to be good in vain ? 
65 Why to be good in vain, is man enjoined ? 

Why to be good in vain, is man betrayed ? 

Betrayed by traitors lodged in his own breast ? 

By sweet complacencies from virtue felt ? 

Why whispers nature lies on virtue's part ? 
70 Or if blind instinct (which assumes the name 

Of sacred conscience) plays the fool in man, 

Why reason made accomplice in the cheat ? 

Why are the wisest loudest in her praise ? 

Can man by reason's beam be led astray ? 
75 Or, at his peril, imitate his God ? 

Since virtue sometimes ruins us on earth, 

Or both are true ; or, man survives the grave. 
Or own the soul immortal, or invert 

All order. Go, mock-majesty ! Go, man ! 
80 And bow to thy superiors of the stall ; 

Through every scene of sense superior far : 

They graze the turf untilled ; they drink the stream ; 

No foreign clime they ransack for their robes ; 

Nor brothers cite to the litigious bar ; 
85 Their good is good entire, unmixed, unmarred ; 

They find a paradise in every field, 

On boughs forbidden where no curses hang ; 

Their ill no more than strikes the sense ; unstretched 

By previous dread, or murmur in the rear ; 
90 When the worst comes, it comes unfeared ; one stroke 

Begins, and ends, their woe ; they die but once ; 

Blest, incommunicable privilege ! for which 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 151 

Proud man, who rules the globe, and reads the stars, 
Philosopher, or hero, sighs in vain. — Young. 

12. He ceased ; and next him Moloch, sceptred king, 
Stood up ; the strongest and fiercest spirit 
That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair ; 
His trust was with th' Eternal to be deemed 
5 Equal in strength, and rather than be less, 
Cared not to be at all ; with that care lost, 
Went all his fear : of God, or hell, or worse, 
He recked not ; and these words thereafter spake : — 
" My sentence is for open ivar ; of wiles, 

10 More unexpert, I boast not ; them let those 

Contrive who need, or when they need, not now ; 
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, 
Millions that stand in arms, and, longing, wait 
The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 

15 Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place 
Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame, 
The prison of His tyranny who reigns 
By our delay ? No, let us rather choose, 
Armed with hell-flames and fury, all at once, 

20 O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way, 
Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
Against the Torturer ; when, to meet the noise 
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear 
Infernal thunder, and for lightning, see 

25 Black fire and horrid shot with equal rage 
Among his angels, ana his throne itself, 
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, 
His own invented torments. ( o ) But perhaps 
The way seems difficult and steep, to scale 

30 With upright wings against a higher foe. 
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, 
That in our proper motion we ascend 



152 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

Up to our native seat ; descent and fall 

35 To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, 

When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear, 
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, 
With what compulsion and laborious flight 
We sunk thus low ? The ascent is easy then ; 

40 The event is feared ; should we again provoke 
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find 
To our destruction, if there be in hell 
Fear to be worse destroyed ; what can be worse 
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned 

45 In this abhorred deep to utter woe : 
Where pain of unextinguishable fire 
Must exercise us without hope of end, 
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 
Inexorable, and the torturing hour, 

50 Calls us to penance ? More destroyed than thus, 
We should be quite abolished and expire. 
What fear we then ? what doubt we to incense 
His utmost ire ? which to the height enraged, 
Will either quite consume us, and reduce 

55 To nothing this essentia], (happier far 
Than miserable, to have eternal being,) 
Or, if our substance be indeed divine, 
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst 
On this side nothing ; and by proof we feel 

60 Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, 
And with perpetual inroads to alarm, 
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne ; 
Which if not victory, is yet revenge." 

13. " I should be much for open war, O peers ! 
As not behind in hate, if what was urged 
Main reason to persuade immediate war, 
Did not e/issuade me most, and seem to cast 
5 Ominous conjecture on the whole success, — 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 153 

When he, who most excels in fact of arms, 

In what he counsels, and in what excels, 

Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair, 

And utter dissolution, as the scope 
10 Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 

First, what revenge ? The towers of heaven are filled 

With armed watch, that render all access 

Impregnable ; oft on the bordering deep 

Encamp their legions, or, with obscure wing, 
15 Scout far and wide into the realm of night, 

Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way 

By force, and at our heels all hell should rise, 

With blackest insurrection, to confound 

Heaven's purest light, yet our great enemy, 
20 All incorruptible, would on his throne 

Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould, 

Incapable of stain, would soon expel 

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 

Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
25 Xsjlat despair : we must exasperate 

The almighty Victor to spend all his rage, 

And that must end us, that must be our cure, 

To he no more : sad cure ; for who would lose, 

Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
30 Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 

To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 

In the wide womb of uncreated night, 

Devoid of sense and motion ? and who knows, 

Let this be good, whether our angry foe 
35 Can give it, or will, ever ? How he can 

Is doubtful ; that he never will is sure." — Milton. 

14. Aside the Devil turned 

For envy, yet with jealous leer malign 

Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained : 

" Sight hateful, sight tormenting ! Thus these two 



154 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

5 Imparadised in one another's arms, 

The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill 

Of bass ; while I to hell am thrust, 

Wnere neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, 

(Amongst our other torments not the least,) 
10 Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines. 

Yet let me not forget what I have gained 

From their own mouths : all is not theirs, it seems : 

One fatal tree there stands, (of knowledge called,) 

Forbidden them to taste. Knowledge forbidden ? 
15 Suspicious, reasonless ? Why should their Lord 

Envy them that ? Can it be sin to know ? 

Can it be death ? and do they only stand 

By ignorance ? is that their happy state, 

The proof of their obedience and their faith ? 
20 O fair foundation laid whereon to build 

Their ruin ! Hence I will excite their minds 

With more desire to know, and to reject 

Envious commands, invented with design 

To keep them low whom knowledge might exalt, 
25 Equal with Gods : aspiring to be such, 

They taste and die ; what likelier can ensue ? 

But first with narrow search I must walk round 

This garden, and no corner leave unspied ; 

A chance, but chance, may lead where I may meet 
30 Some wandering spirit of heaven, by fountain side, 

Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw 

What further would be learned. Live while ye may, 

Yet happy pair ; enjoy, till I return, 

Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed." 
35 So saying, his pro ad step he scornful turned, 

But with sly circumspection, and began, 

Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam. 

Milton. 

In the following speech, where an emphatic clause is in Italic, or has the 
mark of monotone, it requires a firm, full voice, and generally a low note. 



EX. XVI.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 155 

15. Speech of Titus Quinctius to the Romans. 

1. Though I am not conscious, O Romans, of any crime by 
me committed, it is yet with the utmost shame and confusion that 
I appear in your assembly. You have seen it — posterity will 
know it ! — in the fourth consulship of Titus Quinctius, the Mqui 
and Volsci (scarce a match for the Hernici alone) came in arms, 
to the very gates of Rome, — ( o ) and went away unchastised ! 

2. The course of our manners, indeed, and the state of our affairs, 
have long been such, that I had no reason to presage much good ; 
but, could I have imagined that so great an ignominy would have 
befallen me this year, I would, by banishment or death, (if all 
other means had failed,) have avoided the station I am now in. 
(°) What ? might Rome then have been taken, if these men 
who were at our gates had not wanted courage for the attempt ? 

— Rome taken whilst I was consul ? — ( o ) Of honors I had suffi- 
cient — of life enough — more than enough — I should have died 
in my third consulate. 

3. But who are they that our dastardly enemies thus despise ? 

— the consuls or you, Romans ? If we are in fault, depose us, or 
punish as yet more severely. If you are to blame — may neither 
gods nor men punish your faults ! only may you repent. No, Ro- 
mans, the confidence of our enemies is not owing to their courage, 
or to their belief of your cowardice ; they have been too often 
vanquished, not to know both themselves and you. 

4. ( 00 ) Discord, discord is the ruin of this city ! The eternal 
disputes, between the senate and the people, are the sole cause 
of our misfortunes. While we set no bounds to our dominion, 
nor you to your liberty ; while you impatiently endure Patrician 
magistrates, and we Plebeian ; our enemies take heart, grow 
elated, and presumptuous. 

5. ( o ) In the name of the immortal gods, what is it, Romans, 
you would have ? You desired Tribunes ; for the sake of peace, 
we granted them. You were eager to have Decemvirs ; we con- 
sented to their creation. You grew weary of these Decemvirs ; 
we obliged them to abdicate. Your- hatred pursued them when 



156 EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. [EX. XVI. 

reduced to private men ; and we suffered you to put to death, or 
banish, Patricians of the first rank in the republic. You insisted 
upon the restoration of the Tribuneship ; we yielded ; we quietly 
saw Consuls of your own faction elected. 

6. You have the protection of your Tribunes, and the privilege 
of appeal ; the Patricians are subjected to the decrees of the Com- 
rnons. Under pretence of equal and impartial laws, you have 
invaded our rights ; and we have suffered it, and we still suffer 
it. (°) When shall we see an end of discord ? When shall we 
have one interest, and one common country ? Victorious and 
triumphant, you show less temper than we under defeat. When 
you are to contend with its, you can seize the Aventine Hill, you 
can possess yourselves of the Mons Sacer. 

7. The eneray is at our gates — the Msquiline is near being 
taken, — and nobody stirs to hinder it ! But against us you are 
valiant, against us you can arm with diligence. Come on, then, 
besiege the senate-house, make a camp of the forum, fill the jails 
with our chief nobles, and when you have achieved these glorious 
exploits, then, at last, sally out at the iEsquiline gate, with the same 
fierce spirits, against the enemy. Does your resolution fail you 
for this ? 

8. Go then, and behold from our walls your lands ravaged, 
your houses plundered and in flames, the whole country laid waste 
with fire and sword. Have you any thing here to repair these 
damages ? Will the Tribunes make up your losses to you ? They 
will give you words as many as you please ; bring impeachments 
in abundance against the prime men in the state ; heap laws upon 
laws ; assemblies you shall have without end ; but will any of 
you return the richer from those assemblies ? 

9. ( ) Extinguish, O Romans, these fatal divisions; generously 
break this cursed enchantment, which keeps you buried in a 
scandalous inaction. Open your eyes, and consider the manage- 
ment of those ambitious men, who, to make themselves powerful 
in their party, study nothing but how they may foment divisions 
in the commonwealth. — If you can but summon up your former 
courage, if you will now march out of Rome with your consuls, 



EX. XVII.] EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 157 

there is no punishment you can inflict, which I will not submit to, 
if I do not, in a few days, drive those pillagers out of our territory. 
This terror of war, with which you seem so grievously struck, 
shall quickly be removed from Rome to their own cities. 



EXERCISE XVII. 

(See 162—241.) 

260. Difference between the Common and the Intensive 
Inflection. 

The difficulty to be avoided may be seen sufficiently in an example or two. 
There is a general tendency to make the slide of the voice as great in degree, 
when there is little stress, as when there is much ; whereas in the former case 
the slide should be gentle, and sometimes hardly perceptible. 

Common Slide. 

To play with important truths ; to disturb the repose of estab- 
lished tenets ; to subtilize objections ; and elude proof, is too 
often the sport of youthful vanity, of which maturer experience 
commonly repents. 

Were the miser's repentance upon the neglect of a good bar- 
gain ; his sorrow for being overreached ; his hope of improving 
a sum ; and his fear of falling into want ; directed to their proper 
objects, they would make so many Christian graces and virtues. 

Intensive Slide. 

Consider, I beseech you, what was the part of a faithful citi- 
zen ; of a prudent, an active, and an honest minister. Was he not 
to secure Euboea, as our defence against all attacks by sea ? Was 
he not to make Bceotia our barrier on the midland side ? the 
cities bordering on Peloponnesus our bulwark on that quarter ? 
Was he not to attend with due precaution to the importation of 
corn, that this trade might be protected through all its progress 
up to our own harbors ? Was he not to cover those districts 
which we commanded, by seasonable detachments, as the Pro- 
conesus, the Chersonesus, and Tenedos? to exert himself in 
14 



158 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XVIII. 

the assembly for this purpose, while with equal zeal he labored to 
gain others to our interest and alliance, as Byzantium, Abydus, 
and Euboea ? Was he not to cut off the best and most impor- 
tant resources of our enemies, and to supply those in which our 
country was defective ? — And all this you gained by my coun- 
sels, and my administration. 



EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 

EXERCISE XVIII. 

(See 235.) 

261. Compass of Voice. 

To assist in cultivating the bottom of the voice, I have selected examples of 
sublime or solemn description, which admit of but little inflection ; and some 
which contain the figure of simile. Where the mark for low tone is inserted, 
the reader will take pains to keep down his voice, and to preserve it in nearly 
the grave monotone. 

1. ( o ) He bowed the heavens also, and came down ; and 
darkness was under his feet. — And he rode upon a cherub, and 
did fly : yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. — He made 
darkness his secret place ; his pavilion round about him were 
dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. — At the brightness 
that was before him his thick clouds passed, hailstones and coals 
of fire. — The Lotcd also thundered in the heavens, and the 
Highest gave his voice, hailstones and coals of fire. 

2. ( o ) And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in 
heaven : and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they 
shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven, with 
power and great glory. — And he shall send his angels, with a 
great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect 
from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other. 

3. ( ) And the heaven departed as a scroll, when it is rolled 



EX. XVIII.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 159 

together ; and every mountain and island were moved out of their 
places. 2 And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and 
the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and 
every bondman, and every freeman, hid themselves in the dens 
and in the rocks of the mountains ; 3 And said to the mountains 
and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that 
sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb : — For 
the great day of his wrath is come ; and who shall be able to 
stand ? 

4 And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from 
whose face the earth and the heaven fled away ; and there was 
found no place for them. 5 And I saw the dead, small and great, 
stand before God ; and the books were opened : and another 
book was opened, which is the book of life : and the dead were 
judged out of those things which were written in the books ac- 
cording to their works. 6 And the sea gave up the dead which 
were in it ; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were 
in them ; and they were judged every man according to their 
works. 

4. 'Tis listening Fear and dumb Amazement all ; 
When to the startled eye, the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 
And following slower, in explosion fast, 

5 The Thunder raises his tremendous voice. 

At first heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, 

The tempest growls ; ( o ) but as it nearer comes, 

And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 

The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
10 The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet 

Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts 

And opens wider ; shuts and opens, still 

Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. 

Follows the loosened aggravated roar, 
15 Englaring, deepening, mingling, peal on peal 

Crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 



160 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XVIII. 

5. 'TVas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was 

proved, 
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, 
Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, 
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war ; 
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, 
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, 
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, 
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage. 
( ) So when an angel, by divine command, 
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, 
(Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,) 
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; 
And pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, 
Rides on the whirlwind, and directs the storm. 

6. Roused from his trance, he mounts with eyes aghast, 
When o'er the ship, in undulation vast, 

A giant surge down rushes from on high, 
And fore and aft dissevered ruins lie ; 
( ) As when, Britannia's empire to maintain, 

Great Hawke descends in thunder on the main, 
Around the brazen voice of battle roars, 
And fatal lightnings blast the hostile shores ; 
Beneath the storm their shattered navies groan, 
The trembling deep recoils from zone to zone ; 
Thus the torn vessel felt the enormous stroke, 
The beams beneath the thundering deluge broke. 

7. To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern replied : — 
" Reign thou in hell, thy kingdom ; let me serve 

In heaven God ever blest, and his divine 
Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed ; 
5 Yet chains in hell, not realms, expect ; meanwhile 
From me, (returned as erst thou saidst from flight,) 
This greeting on thy impious crest receive." 



EX. XVIII.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 161 

( o ) So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, 

Which hung not, but. so swift with tempest fell 
10 On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight, 

Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield, 

Such ruin intercept ; ten paces huge 

He back recoiled ; the tenth on bended knee 

His massy spear upstayed ; as if on earth 
15 Winds under ground, or waters forcing way, 

Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat, 

Half sunk with all his pines. 



Now storming fury rose, 



And clamor such as heard in heaven till now 
20 Was never ; arms on armor clashing, brayed 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
Of brazen chariots raged ; dire was the noise 
Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss 
Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, 
25 And flying, vaulted either host with fire. 
So under fiery cope together rushed 
Both battles main, with ruinous assault 
And inextinguishable rage ; all heaven 
Resounded, and had earth been then, all earth 

30 Had to her centre shook. 

Long time in even scale 



The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day 
Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms 
No equal, ranging through the dire attack 

35 Of fighting seraphim confused, at length 

Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled 
Squadrons at once ; with huge two-handed sway, 
Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down 
Wide wasting ; such destruction to withstand 

40 He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb 
Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, 
A vast circumference. At his approach 
The great archangel from his warlike toil 
14* 



162 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XVIII. 

Surceased, and glad, as hoping here to end 
45 Intestine war in heaven, the arch foe subdued. 
Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air 
Made horrid circles ; two broad suns their shields 
Blazed opposite, while expectation stood 
In horror ; from each hand with speed retired, 
50 Where erst was thickest fight, the angelic throng, 
And left large fields, unsafe within the wind 
Of such commotion ; such as, to set forth 
Great things by small, if nature's concord broke, 
Among the constellations war were sprung, 
55 Two planets rushing from aspect malign 
Of fiercest opposition in mid -sky 
Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound. 

Milton. 

The following examples are selected as a specimen of those passages, which 
are most favorable to the cultivation of a top to the voice. In pronouncing 
these, the reader should aim to get up his voice to the highest note on which 
he can articulate with freedom and distinctness. See remarks, page 79. If 
the student wishes for more examples of this kind, he is referred to Exer- 
cise V. 

8. Has a wise and good God furnished us with desires which 
have no correspondent objects, and raised expectations in our 
breasts, with no other view but to disappoint them ? — Are we to 
be forever in search of happiness, without arriving at it, either in 
this world or the next ? — Are we formed with a passionate longing 
for immortality, and yet destined to perish after this short period 
of existence ? — Are we prompted to the noblest actions, and sup- 
ported through life, under the severest hardships and most delicate 
temptations, by the hopes of a reward which is visionary and 
chimerical, by the expectation of praises, of which it is utterly 
impossible for us ever to have the least knowledge or enjoyment ? 

9. (°) " Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, 
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 



EX. XIX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 163 

To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to pass, 
5 That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
Retire, or taste thy folly : and learn by proof, 
Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of heaven." 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied ; 
(°) " Art thou that traitor-angel, art thou he, 

10 Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
Unbroken, and in proud, rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of heaven's sons, 
Conjured against the highest, for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 

15 To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 

And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of heaven, 
Hell-doomed, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 
Thy king and lord ? Back to thy punishment, 

20 False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart, 
Strange horrors seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 

EXERCISE XIX. 

(See 241—285.) 

369. Transition. 

The exercises of the foregoing head were designed to accustom the voice to 
exertion on the extreme notes of its compass, high and low. The following 
exercises under this head are intended to accustom the voice to those sudden 
transitions which sentiment often requires, not only as to pitch, but also as to 
quantity. 

1. The Power of Eloquence. — Carey. 

an ODE. 

1. Heard ye those loud contending waves, 
That shook Cecropia's pillared state ? 
Saw ye the mighty from their graves 
Look up, and tremble at her fate ? 



164 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 

Who shall calm the angry storm ? 
Who the mighty task perform, 

And bid the raging tumult cease ? 
See the son of Hermes rise ; 
With siren tongue, and speaking eyes, 

Hush the noise, and soothe to peace ! 

2. Lo ! from the regions of the North, 

The reddening storm of battle pours ; 
Rolls along the trembling earth, 
Fastens on the Olynthian towers. 

3. (°) " Where rests the sword ? — where sleep the brave 1 
Awake ! Cecropia's ally save 

From the fury of the blast ; 
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls : 
Rise ! or Greece forever falls ! 

v Up ! or Freedom breathes her last ! " 

4. (°) The jarring States, obsequious now, 

View the Patriot's hand on high ; 
Thunder gathering on his brow, 
Lightning flashing from his eye ! 

5. Borne by the tide of words along, 

One voice, one mind, inspire the throng : 

(°°) " To arms ! to arms ! to arms ! " they cry ; 

" Grasp the shield, and draw the sword ; 

Lead us to Philippi's lord ; 

Let us conquer him — or die ! " 

6. ( — ) Ah, Eloquence ! thou wast undone ; 

Wast from thy native country driven, 
When Tyranny eclipsed the sun, 
And blotted out the stars of heaven. 



EX. XIX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 165 

7. When Liberty from Greece withdrew, 
And o'er the Adriatic flew, 

To where the Tiber pours his urn, 
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock ; 
Sparks were kindled by the shock — 

Again thy fires began to burn ! 

8. Now shining forth, thou mad'st compliant 

The Conscript Fathers to thy charms ; 
Roused the world-bestriding giant, 
Sinking fast in Slavery's arms ! 

9. I see thee stand by Freedom's fane, 
Pouring the persuasive strain, 

Giving vast conceptions birth : 
Hark ! I hear thy thunder's sound, 
Shake the Forum round and round ! 

Shake the pillars of the earth ! 

10. First-born of Liberty divine ! 

Put on Religion's bright array ; 
Speak ! and the starless grave shall shine 
The portal of eternal day ! 

11. Rise, kindling with the orient beam ; 
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme ! 

Unfold the garments rolled in blood ! 
O, touch the soul, touch all her chords, 
With all the omnipotence of words, 

And point the way to heaven — to God. 

2. Hohenlinden .... Description of a Battle with Firearms. — 

Campbell. 

1. ( ) On Linden, when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 



166 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 

And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser rolling rapidly. 

2. But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 

The darkness of her sceneiy. 

3. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each warrior drew his battle blade, 
And furious every charger neighed, 

To join the dreadful revelry. 

4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven, 
And louder than the bolts of heaven 

Far flashed the red artillery. 

5. And redder yet those fires shall glow, 
On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow ; 
And darker yet shall be the flow 

Of Iser rolling rapidly. 

6. 'Tis morn, — but scarce yon lurid sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
While furious Frank and fiery Hun 

Shout, in their sulphurous canopy. 

7. The combat deepens. (°°) On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave ! 

And charge with all thy chivalry ! 

8. ( — ) Ah ! few shall part where many meet ! 
The snow shall be their winding sheet, 



EX. XIX. j EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 167 

And every turf beneath their feet 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 



3. Hamlet's Soliloquy. 

This is one of the most difficult things to read in the English language. No 
one should attempt it without entering into the sentiment by recurring to the 
story of Hamlet. The notation which I have given, however imperfect, may 
at least furnish the reader with some guide in the management of his voice. 
Want of discrimination has been the common fault in reading this soliloquy. 

To be, or not to be ? . . that is the question. — 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or take arms against a sea of troubles, 
5 And, by opposing, end them ? — To die — to sleep — 

No more : and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to ? — 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To die ; — to sleep; — 
10 To sleep ! perchance to dream : — Ay, there's the rub ; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. There's the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life ; 
15 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,* 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes ; 
20 When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bddkin 7 Who would fardels bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life ? 

( " o * ) But that dread of something after death, 

* The indignant feeling awakened in Hamlet by this enumeration of partic- 
ulars, requires the voice gradually to rise on each, till it comes to the mark of 
transition. 



168 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 

That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
25 No traveller returns, puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of. 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, — 

And thus the native hue of resolution 
30 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

With this regard their currents turn awiy, 

And lose the name of action. 



4. Battle of Waterloo. — Byron. 

1. There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell ; 
( ) But hush! hark! .. a deep sound strikes like a rising 
knell ! 

2. Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : 

(°) On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined; 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 

( o ) But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat. 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 

( o0 ) ''Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

3. ( — ) Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 



EX. XIX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 169 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 

Which ne'er might be repeated — who could guess 

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 

4. And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 

And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar ; 
And near the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering with white lips — " The foe ! They come ! 
They come ! " 

5. ( — ) And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 

Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, 

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 

Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

6. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life ; 
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay ; 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife ; 
The morn, the marshalling in arms ; the day, 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
15 



170 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



5. Negro's Complaint. — Cowper. 

1. ( — ) Forced from home and all its pleasures, 

Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
To increase a stranger's treasures, 

O'er the raging billows borne. 
Men from England bought and sold me, 

Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
But though slave they have enrolled me, 

Minds are never to be sold. 

2. Still in thought as free as ever, 

What are England's rights, I ask, 
Me from my delights to sever, 

Me to torture, me to task ? 
Fleecy locks and black complexion 

Cannot forfeit Nature's claim ; 
Skins may differ, but affection 

Dwells in white and black the same. 

3. Why did all-creating Nature 

Make the plant for which we toil ? 
Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 

Sweat of ours must dress the soil. 
Think, ye masters iron-hearted, 

Lolling at your jovial boards, 
Think how many hacks have smarted 

For the sweets your cane affords. 

4. (°) Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, 

Is there One who reigns on high ? 
Has he bid you buy and sell us, 
Speaking from his throne, the sky ? 



EX. XIX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 171 

Ask him, if your knotted scourges, 

Matches, blood-extorting screws, 
Are the means that duty urges 

Agents of his will to use. % 

5. ( oo ) Hark ! he answers, — wild tornadoes, 

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, 
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, 

Are the voice with which he speaks. 
He, foreseeing what vexations 

Afric's sons should undergo, 
Fixed their tyrant's habitation 

Where his whirlwinds answer, No. 

6. By our blood in Afric wasted, 

Ere our necks received the chain ; 
By the miseries that we tasted, 

Crossing in your barks the main ; 
By our sufferings since ye brought us 

To the man-degrading mart ; — 
All, sustained by patience, taught us 

Only by a broken heart. 

7. Deem our nation brutes no longer, 

Till some reason ye shall find 
Worthier of regard, and stronger, 

Than the color of our kind. 
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings 

Tarnish all your boasted powers, 
Prove that you have human feelings, 

Ere you proudly question ours ! 



172 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 



6. Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of Modern Greece. — 

Halleck. 

[He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp, at Laspi, the site of the ancient 
Platsea, August 2U, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last 
•words were, " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."] 

1. ( ) At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

2. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 
(°) " To arms! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek! " 
He woke — to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
(°°) " Strike — till the last armed foe expires, 
Strike — for your altars and your fires, 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 

God — and your native land ! " 

3. They fought, like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 



XIX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 173 

They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

4. ( — ) Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath ; — 

Come when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 

The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible : the tear, 
The groan, the* knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agony, are thine. 

5. But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 
We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 

For thou art freedom's now and Fame's — 
15* 



174 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XIX. 

One of the few, the immortal names, 
That were not born to die. 

7. Meeting of the Embattled Hosts. — Milton. 

( ) Now when fair morn orient in heaven appeared, 

Up rose the victor angels, and to arms 

The matin trumpet sung : in arms they stood 

Of golden panoply, refulgent host, 
5 Soon banded ; others from the dawning hills 

Looked round, and scouts each coast light-armed scour, 

Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, 

Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight, 

In motion or in halt : him soon they met 
10 Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow 

But firm battalion ; back with speediest sail 

Zophiel, of cherubim the swiftest wing, 

Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried : — 

( 00 ) " x Arm, warriors, arm for fight — the foe at hand, 
15 Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit 

This day ; fear not his flight ; so thick a cloud 

He comes, and settled in his face I see 

Sad resolution and secure ; let each 

His adamantine coat gird well, — and each 
20 Fit well his helm, — gripe fast his orbed shield, 

Borne even or high ; for this day will pour down, 

If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower, 

But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire." 

( ) So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon 
25 In order, quit of all impediment ; 

Instant, without disturb, they took alarm, 

And onward move, embattled : when, behold, 

Not distant far, with heavy pace, the foe, 

Approaching, gross and huge, in hollow cube, 
30 Training his devilish enginery, impaled 

On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, 



EX. XX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 175 

To hide the fraud. At interview both stood 
A while ; but suddenly at head appeared 
Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud : — 
35 (°°) « Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold, 
That all may see who hate us, how we seek 
Peace and composure, and with open breast 
Stand ready to receive them, if they like 
Our overture, and tarn not back perverse." 

EXERCISE XX. 

(See 250—259.) 

Expression. 

The exercises arranged in this class belong to the general head of the pathetic 
and delicate. As this has been partly anticipated under another head of the 
exercises, and as the manner of execution in this case depends wholly on 
emotion, there can be little assistance rendered by a notation. Before reading 
the pieces in this class, the remarks of the Analysis, pp. 82 — 84, should be 
reviewed ; and the mind should be prepared to feel the spirit of each piece, by 
entering fully into the circumstances of the case. 

1. Genesis xliv. — Judaic s Speech to Benjamin. 

18. * Then Judah came near upon him, and said, O my lord, 
let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord's ears, and let 
not thine anger burn against thy servant : for thou art even as 
Pharaoh. 19 My lord asked his servants, saying, Have ye a 
father, or a brother ? 20 And we said unto my lord, We have a 
father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one ; and his 
brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father 
loveth him. 21 And thou saidst unto thy servants, Bring him 
down unto me, that I may set mine eyes upon him. 22 And we 
said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave his father: for if he 
should leave his father, his father would die. 23 And thou saidst 
unto thy servants, Except your youngest brother come down with 
you, ye shall see my face no more. 24 And it came to pass, 
when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the 

* The reader is again desired to bear in mind, that in extracts from the 
Bible, as well as other books, Italic words denote emphasis. 



176 



EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XX. 



words of my lord. 25 And our father said, Go again and buy us 
a little food. 26 And we said, We cannot go down: if our 
youngest brother be with us, then will we go down : for we may 
not see the man's face, except our youngest brother be with us. 
27 And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my 
wife bare me two sons : 28 And the one went out from me, and 
I said, Surely he is torn in pieces : and I saw him not since ; 

29 And if ye take this also from me, and mischief befall him, 
ye shall bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. 

30 Now therefore when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad 
be not with us ; (seeing that his life is bound up in the lacVs life ;) 

31 It shall come to pass, when he seeth that the .lad is not with 
us, that he will die : and thy servants shall bring down the gray 
hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow to the grave. 32 For 
thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I 
bring him not unto thee, then I shall bear the blame to my father 
forever. 33 Now, therefore, I pray thee, let thy servant abide, 
instead of the lad, a bondman to my lord ; and let the lad go up 
with his brethren. 34 For how shall I go up to my father, and 
the lad be not with me ? lest peradventure I see the evil that shall 
come on my father. 

2. Genesis xlv. — Joseph discloses himself . 

1 Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that 
stood by him ; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me. 
And there stood no man with him while Joseph made himself 
known unto his brethren. 2 And he wept aloud : and the 
Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard. 3 And Joseph said 
unto his brethren, I am Joseph ; doth my father yet live ? And 
his brethren could not answer him ; for they were troubled at his 
presence. 4 And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to 
me, I pray you : and they came near. And he said, I am Joseph 
your brother, whom ye sold into Egypt. 5 Now therefore be 
not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that you sold me hither ; 
for God did send me before you to preserve life. 6 For these 
two years hath the famine been in the land : and yet there are 



EX. XX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 177 

five years, in the which there shall be neither earing nor harvest. 
7 And God sent me before you, to preserve you a posterity in 
the earth, and to save your lives by a great deliverance. 8 So 
now it was not. you that sent me hither, but God : and he hath 
made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and a 
ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. 9 Haste ye, and go up 
to my father, and say unto him, Thus saith thy son Joseph, God 
hath made me lord of all Egypt ; come down unto me, tarry not : 
10 And thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be 
near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children's children, 
and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast: 11 And 
there will I nourish thee, (for yet there are five years of famine,) 
lest thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast, come to pov- 
erty. 12 And behold your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother 
Benjamin, that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you. 13 And 
ye shall tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and of all that 
ye have seen ; and ye shall haste, and bring down my father 
hither. 14 And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and 
wept ; and Benjamin wept upon his neck. 15 Moreover, he 
kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them : and after that his 
brethren talked with him. 

25 And they went up out of Egypt, and came into the land of 
Canaan unto Jacob their father, 28 And told him, saying, Joseph 
is yet alive, and he is governor over all the land of Egypt. 
And Jacob's heart fa inted, for he believed them not. 27 And they 
told him all the words of Joseph, which he had said unto them : 
and when he saw the wagons which Joseph had sent to carry him, 
the spirit of Jacob their father revived : 28 And Israel said, It is 
enough ; Joseph my son is yet alive : I will go and see him before 
I die. 

3. The Death of a Friend. — Beattie. 

1. I fain would sing : — but ah ! I strive in vain ; 

Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound ; 

With trembling steps to join yon weeping train, 

I haste ; gleams funereal glare around, 
And mixed with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound. 



178 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XX. 

2. Adieu, ye lays that Fancy's flowers adorn, 
The soft amusement of the vacant mind ! 

He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn — 
He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined, 
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind ! 
He sleeps in dust. Ah, how shall I pursue 
My theme ! To heart-consuming grief resigned, 
Here on his recent grave I fix my view, 
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu ! 

3. Art thou,"my Gregory, forever fled ! 
And am I left to unavailing woe ? 

When fortune's storms assail this weary head, 
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, 
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go ? 
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers ; 
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, 
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. 
'Tis meet that I should mourn : flow forth afresh, my tears. 

4. The Sabbath. — Grahame. 

How still the morning of the hallowed day ! 
Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed 
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song ; 
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
5 Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, 
That yestermorn bloomed waving in the breeze ; 
The faintest sounds attract the ear, — the hum 
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, 
The distant bleating, midway up the hill. 
10 Calmness seems throned on yon unmoving cloud. 
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas 
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale, 
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark 
Warbles his heaven-tuned song ; the lulling brook 



EX. XX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 179 

15 Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen ; 
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke 
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals, 
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. 

With dove-like wings Peace o'er yon village broods ; 

20 The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din 
Has ceased ; all, all around is quietness. 
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare 
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, 
Her deadliest foe ; — the toil-worn horse, set free, 

25 Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ; 
And, as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls, 
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. 

But, chiefly, Man the day of rest enjoys. 
Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 

30 On other days, the man of toil is doomed 
To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground 
Both seat and board, — screened from the winter's cold 
And summer's heat by neighboring hedge or tree : 
But on this day, embosomed in his home, 

35 He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ; 
With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy 
Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form, 
A word and a grimace, but reverently, 
With covered face, and upward, earnest eye. 

40 Hail, Sabbath ! thee 1 hail, the poor man's day. 
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke, 
As wandering slowly up the river's bank, 
He meditates on Him whose power he marks 

45 In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, 
And in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
Around the roots ; and while he thus surveys 
With elevated joy each rural charm, 
He hopes, (yet fears presumption in the hope,) 

50 That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. 



180 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XX. 

But now his steps a welcome sound recalls : 

Solemn, the knell from yonder ancient pile 

Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe ; 

The throng moves slowly o'er the tomb-paved ground : 
55 The aged man, the bowed down, the blind 

Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes 

With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well pleased,— 

These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach 

The house of God ; these, spite of all their ills, 
60 A glow of gladness prove : with silent praise 

They enter in : a placid stillness reigns ; 

Until the man of God, worthy the name, 

Opens the book, and, with impressive voice, 

The weekly portion reads. 

5. The Burial of Sir John Moore. 

1. ( — ) Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 

As his corse to the ramparts we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero was buried. 

2. We buried him darkly ; at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 
And the lantern, dimly burning. 

3. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ! 
But he lay — like a warrior taking his rest — 
With his martial cloak around him ! 

4. Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow ; — 



EX. XX.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 181 

5. We thought — as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow — 
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 
And we far away on the billow ! 

6. " Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him." 

7. But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock tolled the hour for retiring, 
And we heard the distant and random gun, 
That the foe was suddenly firing. 

8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ! 
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But we left him — alone with his glory ! 

6. Eve lamenting the Loss of Paradise. 

( — ) O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death ! 
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave 
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, 
Fit haunts of God ? where I had hope to spend, 
5 Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day 
That must be mortal to us both. O flowers, 
That never will in other climate grow, 
My early visitation and my last 
At ev'n, which I bred up with tender hand 
10 From the first opening bud, and gave ye names, 
Who now shall rear you to the sun, or rank 
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ? 
Thee lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned 
With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee 
16 



182 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XX. 

15 How shall T part, and whither wander down 
Into a lower world, to this obscure 
And wild ? how shall we breathe in other air 
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits ? 



7. Soliloquy of Hamlet's Uncle. 

( * " ) O ! my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't, — 
A brother's murder ! — Pray I cannot, 
Though inclination be sharp as 'twill, 
5 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
And, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
And both neglect. (°) What if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ; 

10 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 

To wash it white as snow ? Whereunto serves mercy, 

But to confront the visage of offence ! 

And what's in prayer, but this twofold force, 

To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 

15 Or pardoned being down ? — Then I'll look up ; 
My fault is passed. But O, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? " Forgive me my foul murder ! " 
That cannot be ; since I am still possessed 
Of those effects for which I did the murder, 

20 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
May one be pardoned, and retain the offence ? 
In the corrupted currents of this world, 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 

25 Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 
There, is no shuffling ; there, the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves compelled 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
To give in evidence. What then ? — what rests ? 



' 



EX. XX. XXI.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 183 

30 Try what repentance can ; what can it not ? 

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? 

( ) O wretched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 

O limed soul ; that, struggling to be free, 

Art more engaged. Help, angels ! make assay ! 
35 Bow, stubborn knees ; and heart with strings of steel, 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 

All may be well. 

EXERCISE XXI. 

(See 259—344.) 

Representation. 

1. Matt. xiv. — 22 And straightway Jesus constrained his 
disciples to get into a ship, and to go before him unto the other 
side, while he sent the multitudes away. 23 And when he had 
sent the multitudes away, he went up into a mountain apart to 
pray : and when the evening was come, he was there alone. 
24 But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with 
waves : for the wind was contrary. 25 And in the fourth watch 
of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. 26 And 
when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were trou- 
bled, saying, It is a spirit ; and they cried out for fear. 27 But 
straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer ; it 
is X J; be not afraid. 28 And Peter answered him and said, 
Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. 29 And 
he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, 
he walked on the water to go to Jesus. 30 But when he saw the 
wind boisterous, he was afraid ; and beginning to sink, he cried, 
saying, Lord, save me. 31 And immediately Jesus stretched 
forth his hand and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little 
faith, wherefore didst thou doubt ? 32 And when they were come 
into the ship, the wind ceased. 33 Then they that were in the 
ship came and worshipped him, saying, Of a truth thou art the 
Son of God. 



184 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XXI. 

2. Matt. xvii. — 14 And when they were come to the multi- 
tude, there came to him a certain man kneeling down to him, and 
saying, 15 Lord, have mercy on my son ; for he is a lunatic, and 
sore vexed, for oft times he falleth into the^re, and oft into the 
water. 16 And I brought him to thy disciples, and they could not 
cure him. 17 Then Jesus answered and said, O faithless and 
perverse generation, how long shall I be with you ? How long 
shall I suffer you ? Bring him hither to me. 18 And Jesus re- 
buked the devil, and he departed out of him : and the child was 
cured from that very hour. 19 Then came the disciples to Jesus 
apart, and said, Why could not we cast him out ? 20 And Jesus 
said unto them, Because of your unbelief ; for verily I say unto 
you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say 
unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place ; and it shall 
remove ; and nothing shall be impossible unto you. 

3. Matt, xviii. — 23 Therefore is the kingdom of heaven 
likened unto a certain king, which would take account of his ser- 
vants. 24 And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought 
unto him which owed him ten thousand talents. 25 But foras- 
much as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, 
and his wife and children, and all that he had, and payment to be 
made. 26 The servant therefore fell down and worshipped him, 
saying, Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 
27 Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, 
and loosed him, and forgave him the debt. 28 But the same 
servant went out, and found one of his fellow-servants, which 
owed him a hundred pence ; and he laid hands on him, and took 
him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest. 29 And his 
fellow-servant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, 
Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. 30 And he 
would not ; but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay 
the debt. 31 So when his fellow-servants saw what was done, 
they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was 
done. 32 Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto 
him, O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because 



EX. XXI.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 185 

thou desiredst me : 33 Shouldest not thou also have had compas- 
sion on thy fellow-servant, even as I had pity on thee ? 

4. Matt. xx. — 25 But Jesus called them unto him, and said, 
Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion 
over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them. 
26 But it shall not be so among you : but whosoever will be great 
among you, let him be your minister ; 27 And whosoever will be 
chief among you, let him be your servant : 28 Even as the Son 
of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to 
give his life a ransom for many. 29 And as they departed from 
Jericho, a great multitude followed him. 

30 And behold, two blind men sitting by the wayside, when 
they heard that Jesus passed by, cried out, saying, Have mercy on 
us, O Lord, thou son of David. 31 And the multitude rebuked 
them, because they should hold their peace : but they cried the 
more, saying, Have mercy on us, O Lord, thou son of David. 
32 And Jesus stood still, and called them, and said, What will ye 
that I shall do unto you ? 33 They say unto him, Lord, that our 
eyes may be opened. 34 So Jesus had compassion on them, and 
touched their eyes : and immediately their eyes received sight, 
and they followed him. 

s 5. Matt. xxi. — 23 And when he was come into the temple, 
the chief priests and the elders of the people came unto him as he 
was teaching, and said, By what authority doest thou these things ? 
and who gave thee this authority ? 24 And Jesus answered and 
said unto them, I also will ask you one thing, which if ye tell me, 
I in like wise will tell you by what authority I do these things. 
25 The baptism of John, whence was it? from heaven, or of 
men ? And they reasoned with themselves, saying, If we shall 
say, From heaven ; he will say unto us, Why did ye not then 
believe him ? 26 But if we shall say, Of men ; we fear the 
people ; for all hold John as a prophet. 27 And they answered 
Jesus, and said, We cannot tell. And he said unto them, Neither 
tell I you by what authority I do these things. 
16* 



186 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XXI. 

28 But what think ye ? A certain man had two sons ; and he 
came to the first, and said, Son, go work to-day in my vineyard 
29 He answered and said, I will not ; but afterwards he repented, 
and went. 30 And he came to the second, and said likewise. 
And he answered, I go, sir ; and went not. 31 Whether of them 
twain did the will of his father ? They say unto him, The first. 
Jesus saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That the publicans 
and the harlots go into the kingdom of God before you. 

6. Matt. xxv. — 31 When the Son of man shall come in his 
glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the 
throne of his glory : 32 And before him shall be gathered all 
nations : and he shall separate them one from another, as a shep- 
herd divideth his sheep from the goats : 33 And he shall set the 
sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. 34 Then 
shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed 
of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the 
foundation of the world : 35 For I w r as a hungered, and ye 
gave me meat : I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a 
stranger, and ye took me in : 36 Naked, and ye clothed me : I 
was sick, and ye visited me : I was in prison, and ye came unto 
me. 37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, 
when saw we thee a hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and 
gave thee drink ? 38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took 
thee in ? or naked, and clothed thee ? 39 Or when saw we 
thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee ? 40 And the King 
shall answer and say unto them, Verily, I say unto you, Inas- 
much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my 
brethren, ye have done it unto me. 41 Then shall he say also 
unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into 
everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels : 42 For 
I was a hungered, and ye gave me no meat : I was thirsty, 
and ye gave me no drink: 43 I was a stranger, and ye 
took me not in : naked, and ye clothed me not : sick, and in 
prison, and ye visited me not. 44 Then shall they also answer 
him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee a hungered, or athirst, or 



EX. XXI.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 187 

a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister 
unto thee ? 45 Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily, I 
say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of 
these, ye did it not to me. 46 And these shall go away into ever- 
lasting punishment ; but the righteous into life eternal. 

7. Acts xii. — 5 Peter therefore was kept in prison: but 
prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God for 
him. 6 And when Herod would have brought him forth, the 
same night Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound 
with two chains ; and the keepers before the door kept the prison. 
7 And behold, an angel of the Lord came unto him, and a light 
shined in the prison ; and he smote Peter on the side, and raised 
him up, saying, Arise up quickly. And his chains fell off from 
his hands. 8 And the angel said unto him, Gird thyself, and 
bind on thy sandals ; and so he did. And he saith unto him, 
Cast thy garments about thee, and follow me. 9 And he went 
out, and followed him, and wist not that it was true which was 
done by the angel ; but thought he saw a vision. 10 When they 
were past the first and the second ward, they came unto the iron 
gate that leadeth unto the city ; which opened to them of his own 
accord : and they went out, and passed on through one street : 
and forthwith the angel departed from him. 1 1 And when Peter 
was come to himself, he said, Now I know of a surety, that the 
Lord hath sent his angel, and hath delivered me out of the hand 
of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews. 
12 And when he had considered the thing, he came to the house 
of Mary the mother of John, whose surname was Mark ; where 
many were gathered together, praying. 13 And as Peter knocked 
at the door of the gate, a damsel came to hearken, named Rhoda. 

14 And when she knew Peter's voice, she opened not the gate 
for gladness, but ran in, and told how Peter stood before the gate. 

15 And they say unto her, Thou art mad. But she constantly 
affirmed that it was even so. Then said they, It is his angel. 

16 But Peter continued knocking. And when they had opened the 
door, and saw him, they were astonished. 17 But he beckoning 
unto them with the hand to hold their peace, declared unto them 



18S EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XXI. 

how the Lord had brought him out of the prison. And he said, 
Go show these things unto James, and to the brethren. And he 
departed, and went into another place. 



8. The Siege of Calais. 

1. Edward III, after the battle of Cressy, laid siege to Calais. 
He had fortified his camp in so impregnable a manner, that all 
the efforts of France proved ineffectual to raise the siege, or throw 
succors into the city. The command devolving upon Eustace St. 
Pierre, a man of mean birth, but of exalted virtue, he offered to 
capitulate with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart 
with life and liberty. 

2. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cruelty, consented to 
spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided they delivered up to him 
six of their principal citizens, with halters about their necks, as 
victims of due atonement for that spirit of rebellion with which 
they had inflamed the vulgar. When his messenger, Sir Walter 
Mauny, delivered the terms, consternation and pale dismay were 
impressed on every countenance. 

3. To a long and dead silence deep sighs and groans succeeded, 
till Eustace St. Pierre, getting up to a little eminence, thus addressed 
the assembly : " My friends, we are brought to great straits this 
day. We must either yield to the terms of our cruel and insnar- 
ing conqueror, or give up our tender infants, our wives, and 
daughters, to the blood and brutal lusts of the violating soldiers. 

4. Is there any expedient left, whereby we may avoid the guilt 
and infamy of delivering up those who have suffered every misery 
with you, on the one hand, or the desolation and horror of a sacked 
city, on the other ? There is, my friends ; there is one expedient 
left ! a gracious, an excellent, a godlike expedient left ! Is there 
any here to whom virtue is dearer than life ? Let him offer him- 
self an oblation for the safety of his people ! He shall not fail of 
a blessed approbation from that Power who offered up his only 
Son for the salvation of mankind." 

5. He spoke; — but a universal silence ensued. Each man 
looked around for the example of that virtue and magnanimity 



EX. XXI.] EXERCISES ON MODULATION. 189 

which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted 
the resolution. At length St. Pierre resumed : " I doubt not but 
there are many here as ready, nay, more zealous of this martyr- 
dom than I can be ; though the station to which I am raised by 
the captivity of Lord Vienne imparts a right to be the first in 
giving my life for your sakes. I give it freely ; I give it cheer- 
fully. Who comes next?" — "Your son," exclaimed a youth 
not yet come to maturity. — " Ah ! my child ! " cried St. Pierre ; 
" I am then twice sacrificed. But no ; I have rather begotten 
thee a second time. Thy years are few, but full, my son. The 
victim of virtue has reached the utmost purpose and goal of 
mortality." 

6. " Who next, my friends ? This is the hour of heroes." — 
" Your kinsman," cried John de Aire. — " Your kinsman," cried 
James Wissant. — " Your kinsman," cried Peter Wissant. — 
" Ah ! " exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears, " why 
was not I a citizen of Calais ? " The sixth victim was still want- 
ing, but was quickly supplied by lot, from numbers who were now 
emulous of so ennobling an example. 

7. The keys of the city were then delivered to Sir Walter. 
He took the six prisoners into his custody ; then ordered the gates 
to be opened, and gave charge to his attendants to conduct the 
remaining citizens, with their families, through the camp of the 
English. Before they departed, however, they desired permission 
to take the last adieu of their deliverers. What a parting ! what 
a scene ! They crowded^ with their wives and children, about St. 
Pierre and his fellow-prisoners. They embraced ; they clung 
around ; they fell prostrate before them ; they groaned ; they 
wept aloud ; and the joint clamor of their mourning passed the 
gates of the city, and was heard throughout the English camp. 

9. Extract from a Sermon of Robert Robinson. 

Col. ii. 8.-" Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit." 

1. " Beware lest any man spoil you." . . . What ! is it possible 
to spoil a Christian ? Indeed it is. A Christian may spoil himself, 



190 EXERCISES ON MODULATION. [EX. XXL 

as a beautiful complexion or a proper shape may be rendered dis- 
agreeable, by circumstances of dress or uncleanliness ; he may be 
spoiled by other people, just as a straight child may be made 
crooked by the negligence of his nurse ; or exactly as a sweet- 
tempered youth may be made surly or insolent by a cruel master. 
" Beware lest any man spoil you." Is it possible for whole socie- 
ties of Christians to be spoiled ? Certainly it is. Nothing is 
easier. They may spoil one another, as, in a family, the temper 
of one single person may spoil the peace of the whole ; or, as 
in a school, one trifling or turbulent master may spoil the educa- 
tion, and so the usefulness through life, of two or three hundred 
pupils, successively committed to his injudicious treatment. 

2. All human constitutions, even the most excellent, have 
seeds of imperfections in them, some mixtures of folly which 
naturally tend to weaken and destroy ; and though this is not the 
case with the Christian religion itself, which is the wisdom of God 
without any mixture of human folly, yet even this pure religion, 
like the pure juice of the grape, falling into the hands of depraved 
men, may be perverted, and whole societies may embrace Chris- 
tianity thus perverted. 

3. Beware lest any man spoil you through . . . what ? Idolatry, 
blasphemy, profligacy? No. Christians are in very little danger 
from great crimes ; but beware lest any man spoil you through 
philosophy. What hath philosophy done, that the apostle should 
thus guard Christians against it ? Did he not know that before 
his time, while mimics were idly amusing one part of the world, 
and heroes depopulating another, the peaceable sons of philosophy 
disturbed nobody, but either improved mankind in their schools, or 
sat all calm and content in their cells ? Did he not observe that 
in his time Christianity was reputed folly, because it was taught 
and believed by unlettered people ; and that if philosophers could 
be prevailed on to teach it, it would have instantly acquired a 
character of wisdom ? 

4. Whether the common people had understood it or not, they 
would have reckoned it wise if philosophers had taught it. The 
apostle knew all this, and, far from courting the aid of learned 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 191 

men to secure credit to the gospel, he guards Christians in the 
text against the future temptation- of doing so. Had this caution 
been given us by any of the other apostles, who had not the 
advantage of a learned education, we might have supposed they 
censured what they did not understand ; but this comes from the 
disciple of Gamaliel. 



PART II. 
MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

The reader will observe that no rhetorical notation is applied in the follow- 
ing exercises. 

Man strong only in his Mental Faculties. — Horace Mann. 

1. It was not the design of Providence that the work of the 
world should be performed by muscular strength. God has filled 
the earth and imbued the elements with energies of greater power 
than all the inhabitants of a thousand planets like ours. 

2. Whence come our necessaries and our luxuries ? — those 
comforts and appliances that make the difference between a 
houseless, wandering tribe of Indians in the far West, and a New 
England village? They do not come wholly or principally from 
the original, unassisted strength of the human arm, but from the 
employment of those great natural forces, with which the bountiful 
Creator has filled every part of the material universe. 

3. Caloric, gravitation, expansibility, compressibility, electri- 
city, chemical affinities and repulsions, spontaneous velocities — 
these are the mighty agents which the intellect of man harnesses 
to the car of improvement. The application of water, and wind, 
and steam to the propulsion of machinery, and to the transporta- 
tion of men and merchandise from place to place, has added ten 
thousand fold to the actual products of human industry. How 
small the wheel which the stoutest laborer can turn, and how soon 



192 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

will he be weary ! Compare this with a wheel driving a thousand 
spindles or looms, which a stream of water can turn and never tire. 

4. On an element which in ancient times was supposed to be 
exclusively within the control of the gods, and where it was 
deemed impious for human power to intrude, even there the 
gigantic forces of nature, which human science and skill have 
enlisted in their service, confront and overcome the raging of the 
elements — breasting tempests and tides, escaping reefs and lee- 
shores, and careering triumphant around the globe. The velocity 
of winds, the weight of waters, and the rage of steam, are powers, 
each one of which is infinitely stronger than all the strength of all 
the nations and races of mankind, were it all gathered into a 
single arm. 

5. Had God intended that the work of the world should be 
done by human bones and sinews, he would have given us an arm 
as solid and strong as the shaft of a steam engine ; and enabled 
us to stand, day and night, and turn the crank of a steamship 
while sailing to Liverpool or Calcutta. Had God designed the 
human muscles to do the work of the world, then, instead of the 
ingredients of gunpowder or gun-cotton, and the expansive force 
of heat, he would have given us hands which could take a granite 
quarry and break its solid acres into suitable and symmetrical 
blocks, as easily as we now open an orange. Had he intended 
us for bearing burdens, he would have given us Atlantean shoul- 
ders, by which we could carry the vast freights of rail-car and 
steamship, as a porter carries his pack. He would have given us 
lungs by which we could blow fleets before us, and wings to sweep 
over ocean wastes. 

6. But instead of iron arms, and. Atlantean shoulders, and the 
lungs of Boreas, he has given us a mind, a soul, a capacity of 
acquiring knowledge, and thus of appropriating all these energies 
of nature to our own use. Instead of a telescopic and micro- 
scopic eye, he has given us power to invent the telescope and the 
microscope. Instead of ten thousand fingers, he has given us 
genius inventive of the power loom and the printing press. With- 
out a cultivated intellect, man is among the weakest of all the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 193 

dynamical forces of nature ; with a cultivated intellect, he com- 
mands them all. 

What is Time ? — Marsden. 

n asked an aged man, a man of cares, 
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs : 
" Time is the warp of life," he said ; " O, tell 
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well ! " 
I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled : 
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed — 
" Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode." 
I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 
Of life had left his veins : " Time ! " he replied, 
" I've lost it ! Ah, the treasure ! " and he died. 
I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres, 
Those bright chronometers of days and years : 
They answered, " Time is but a meteor glare ! " 
And bade us for eternity prepare. 
I asked the seasons, in their annual round, 
Which beautify, or desolate the ground : 
And they replied, (no oracle more wise,) 
" 'Tis Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize ! " 
I asked a spirit lost : but O, the shriek 
That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I speak ! 
It cried, " A particle, a speck, a mite 
Of endless years, duration infinite ! " 
Of things inanimate, my dial I 
Consulted, and it made me this reply : — 
" Time is the season fair of living well, 
The path of glory and the path of hell." 
I asked my Bible : and methinks it said, 
" Time is the present hour, — the past is fled ; — 
Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet 
On any human being rose or set." 
17 



194 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

I asked old Father Time himself, at last : 

But in a moment he flew swiftly past ; 

His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 

His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 

I asked the mighty angel, who shall stand, 

One foot on sea, and one on solid land : 

" By heavens," he cried, " I swear the mystery 's o'er 

Time was" " but time shall be no more ! " 



From the Address at the Completion of the Bunker Hill 
Monument. — Webster. 

1. Banners and badges, processions and flags, announce to us, 
that amidst this uncounted multitude are thousands of natives of 
New England, now residents in other states. Welcome, ye 
kindred names, with kindred blood ! From the broad savannas 
of the South ; from the newer regions of the West ; from amidst 
the hundreds of thousands of men of eastern origin, who culti- 
vate the rich valley of the Genesee, or live along the chain of the 
lakes ; from the mountains of Pennsylvania, and the thronged 
cities of the coast, — welcome, welcome ! Wherever else you 
may be strangers, here you are all at home. 

2. You assemble at this shrine of liberty, near the family 
altars, at which your earliest devotions were paid to Heaven ; near 
to the temples of worship first entered by you, and near to the 
schools and colleges in which your education was received. You 
come hither with a glorious ancestry of Liberty. You bring 
names which are on the rolls of Lexington, Concord, and Bunker 
Hill. You come, some of you, once more to be embraced by an 
aged revolutionary father, or to receive another, perhaps a last 
blessing, bestowed in love and tears, by a mother, yet surviving to 
witness and to enjoy your prosperity and happiness. 

3. But, if family associations, and the recollections of the past, 
bring you hither with greater alacrity, and mingle with your greet- 
ing much of local attachment and private affection, greeting also 
be given, free and hearty greeting, to every American citizen 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 195 

who treads this sacred soil, with patriotic feeling, and respires 
with pleasure, in an atmosphere fragrant with the recollections of 
1775. This occasion is respectable — nay, it is grand, it is sub- 
lime, by the nationality of its sentiment. In the seventeen mil- 
lions of happy people, who form the American community, there 
is not one who has not an interest in this Monument, as there is 
not one that has not a deep and abiding interest in that which 
it commemorates. 

4. Woe betide the man who brings to this day's worship feeling 
less than wholly American ! Woe betide the man who can stand 
here with the fires of local resentments burning, or the purpose 
of fomenting local jealousies, and the strifes of local interests 
festering and rankling in his heart. Union, founded in justice, in 
patriotism, and the most plain and obvious common interest ; 
union, founded on the same love of liberty, cemented by blood 
shed in the same common cause ; union has been the source of 
all our glory and greatness thus far, and is the ground of all our 
highest hopes. 

6. This column stands on Union. I know not that it might not 
keep its position, if the American Union, in the mad conflict of 
human passions, and in the strife of parties and factions, should 
be broken up and destroyed. I know not that it would totter and 
fall to the earth, and mingle its fragments with the fragments of 
Liberty and the Constitution, when state should be separated from 
state, and faction and dismemberment obliterate forever all the 
hopes of the founders of our republic, and the great inheritance 
of their children. It might stand. But who, from beneath the 
weight of mortification and shame, that would oppress him, could 
look up to behold it ? For my part, should I live to such a time, 
I shall avert my eyes from it forever. 

Hamlet and Horatio. — Shakspeare. 

Hot. Hail to your lordship ! 
Ham. I am glad to see you well : {approaches.) 
Horatio ! or do I forget myself. 



196 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 

Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name with you. 
And what makes you from Wittenberg, Horatio ? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so ; 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself. I know you are no truant ; 
But what is your affair in Elsinore ? 
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student ; 
I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
My father Methinks I see my father 

Hor. Where, my lord ? 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw ! who ? 

Hor. My lord, the king, your father. 

Ham. The king, my father ? 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while, 
With an attent ear ; till I may deliver, 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For Heaven's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
In the dead waist and middle of the night, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 197 

Been thus encountered : a figure like your father, 

Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pie, 

Appears before them, and, with solemn march, 

Goes slow and stately by them ; thrice he walked 

By their oppressed and fear-surprised eyes, 

Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they (distilled 

Almost to jelly with the act of fear) 

Stand dumb, and speak not to him. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Hor. My lord, upon the platform where we watched. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did ; 
But answer made it none. Yet once, methought, 
It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak ; 
But even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
And vanished from our sight. 

Ham. 'Tis very strange ! 

Hor. As I do live, my honored lord, 'tis true ; 
And we did think it writ down in our duty 
To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sir, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

Hor. We do, my lord. 

Ham. Armed, say you ? 

Hor. Armed, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toe ? 

Hor. My lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not his face ? 

Hor. O yes, my lord : he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, looked he frowningly ? 

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. 

Ham. Pale, or red ? 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fixed his eyes upon you ? 
17* 



198 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you. 

Ham. Very like, very like ; staid it long ? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 

Ham. His beard was grizzled ? — no ? — 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silvered. 

Ham. I'll watch to-night ; perchance 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant you, it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you, sir, 
If you have hitherto concealed this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
I will requite your love : so fare you well. 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

Banger to Civil Liberty. — L. Bacon. 

1. Mexico was at once the oldest and the richest of all the 
countries of this western hemisphere. Her history, as a civilized 
state, runs back ages before the discovery of America by 
Europe. In a seemingly auspicious hour, she dissolved the 
bonds which connected her with Spain, expelled the old intruders 
who assumed to rule her by the right of conquest, and began her 
career as an independent nation among the nations of Chris- 
tendom. 

2. In her trustful admiration of the land of Washington, she 
borrowed her constitution, in all its details, from ours, and estab- 
lished, or thought she established, a federal republican system. 
And how has she succeeded ? Tossed and torn by revolution 
upon revolution ; retrograding constantly towards barbarism ; 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 199 

subject to a military despotism, in which the power is ever 
passing from the hands of one chief to those of another, and 
under which nothing is done at any time for justice or the common 
welfare, — she has permitted herself at last to be drawn into ruin- 
ous collision with the colossal power to which these Anglo-Nor- 
man states have grown, in less than two generations, from a 
physical weakness far below what hers now is. 

Let us take heed. If our people, as a people, become inca- 
pable of self-government ; if our teeming and accumulating popu- 
lation is permitted to outgrow those moral and religious influences 
by which the general character is formed to manliness and thought- 
fulness ; if popular ignorance is permitted to spread over masses 
and wide districts with its Egyptian darkness ; if the people are 
to be seized with the frenzied lust of conquest and empire ; if 
the characteristic policy of our government becomes military, and 
the people fall in love with military glory ; if the profligate max- 
ims by which the governments of the Old World have robbed and 
plundered the helpless nations for so many ages, are to become, 
by popular acclaim, the political and international morality of our 
republic, — then our history will exhibit in due time, and none 
can tell how soon, another illustration of the impotency of a mere 
constitution, or of any arrangement and distribution of political 
power for the permanent security of civil liberty. 

Conversation. — Cowper. 

Some fretful tempers wince at every touch ; 
You always do too little or too much : 
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, 
Your elevated voice goes through the brain : 
You fall at once into a lower key, 
That's worse — the drone-pipe of an humble-bee. 
The southern sash admits too strong a light, 
You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tis night. 
He shakes with cold — you stir the fire and strive 
To make a blaze — that's roasting him alive. 



200 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; 
With sole — that's just the sort he does not wish. 
He takes what he at first professed to loathe, 
And in due time feeds heartily on both ; 
Yet still o'erclouded with a constant frown, 
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. 
Your hope to please him vain on every plan, 
Himself should work that wonder, if he can — 
Alas ! his efforts double his distress ; 
He likes yours little, and his own still less. 
Thus always teasing others, always teased, 
His only pleasure is — to be displeased. 
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, 
And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
Of needless shame and self-imposed disgrace. 
Our sensibilities are so acute, 
The fear of being silent makes us mute. 
We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose ; 
But being tried, it dies upon the lip, 
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, 
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. 
The circle formed, we sit in silent state, 
Like figures drawn upon a dial -plate ; 
Yes, ma'am, and no, ma'am, uttered softly, show, 
Every five minutes, how the minutes go : 
Each individual, suffering a constraint 
Poetry may, but colors cannot paint, 
As if in close committee on the sky, 
Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry, 
And finds a changing clime a happy source 
Of wise reflection and well-timed discourse. 
We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, 
Like conservators of the public health, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 201 

Of epidemic throats, if such there are, 

And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. 

That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 

Filled up at last with interesting news, 

Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed, 

And who is hanged, and who is brought to bed ; 

But fear to call a more important cause, 

As if 'twere treason against English laws. 

The visit paid, with ecstasy we come, 

As from a seven years' transportation, home, 

And there resume an unembarrassed brow, 

Recovering what we lost, we know not how - — 

The faculties that seemed reduced to nought, 

Expression and the privilege of thought. 

From Josiah Quincy^s Speech on the Admission of Louisiana. 

1. If there be a man in this house, or nation, who cherishes the 
constitution under which we are assembled as the chief stay of 
his hope, as the light which is destined to gladden his own day, 
and to soften even the gloom of the grave, by the prospect it 
sheds over his children, I fall not behind him in such sentiments. 
I will yield to no man in attachment to this constitution, in ven- 
eration for the sages who laid its foundations, in devotion to those 
principles which form its cement and constitute its proportions. 

2. What, then, must be my feelings — what ought to be the 
feelings of a man cherishing such sentiments, when he sees an 
act contemplated which lays ruin at the root of all these hopes ? 
when he sees a principle of action about to be usurped, before 
the operation of which the bands of this constitution are no more 
than flax before the fire, or stubble before the whirl wind ? When 
this bill passes, such an act is done, and such a principle usurped. 

3. Mr. Speaker, there is a great rule of human conduct, which 
he who honestly observes cannot err widely from the path of his 
sought duty* It is, to be very scrupulous concerning the princi- 
ples you select as the test of your rights and obligations ; to be 



202 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

very faithful in noticing the result of their application ; and to be 
very fearless in tracing and exposing their immediate effects and 
distant consequences. 

4. Under the sanction of this rule of conduct, I am compelled 
to declare it as my deliberate opinion, that, if this bill passes, the 
bonds of this Union are virtually dissolved ; that the states which 
compose it are free from their moral obligations ; and that, as it 
will be the right of all, so it will be the duty of some, to prepare, 
definitely, for a separation — amicably if they can, violently if 
they must. 

5. I would rouse the attention of gentlemen from the apathy 
with which they seem beset. These observations are not made in 
a corner ; there is no low intrigue, no secret machination. I 
am on the people's own ground : to them I appeal, concerning 
their own rights, their own liberties, their own intent, in adopting 
this constitution. 

6. The voice I have uttered, at which gentlemen startle with 
such agitations, is no unfriendly voice. I intend it as a voice of 
warning. By this people, and by the event, if this bill passes, I 
am willing to be judged, whether it be not a voice of wisdom. 

The same Speech, continued. 

1. Now, who believes, who dare assert, that it was the intention 
of the people, when they adopted this constitution, to assign, event- 
ually, to New Orleans and Louisiana a portion of their political 
power, and to invest all the people those extensive regions might 
hereafter contain, with an authority over themselves and their 
descendants ? 

2. When you throw the weight of Louisiana into the scale, you 
destroy the political equipoise contemplated at the time of forming 
the contract. Can any man venture to affirm, that the people did 
intend such a comprehension as you now, by construction, give it ? 
Or can it be concealed, that beyond its fair and acknowledged 
intent, such a compact has no moral force ? 

3. If gentlemen are so alarmed at the bare mention of the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 203 

consequences, let them abandon a measure, which, sooner or 
later, will produce them. How long before the seeds of discon- 
tent will ripen, no man can foretell. But it is the part of wisdom 
not to multiply or scatter them. 

4. Do you suppose the people of the Northern and Atlantic 
States will, or ought to, look on with patience, and see representa- 
tives and senators, from the Red River and Missouri, pouring them- 
selves upon this and the other floor, managing the concerns of a 
seaboard fifteen hundred miles, at least, from their residence, 
and having a preponderancy in councils into which, constitution- 
ally, they could never have been admitted ? I have no hesitation 
upon this point. 

5. They neither will see it, nor ought to see it, with content. 
It is the part of a wise man to foresee danger and to hide himself. 
This great usurpation, which creeps into this house, under the 
plausible appearance of giving content to that important point, 
New Orleans, starts up a gigantic power to control the nation. 

6. Upon the actual condition of things, there is, there can be, 
no need of concealment. It is apparent to the blindest vision. 
By the course of nature, and conformable to the acknowledged 
principles of the constitution, the sceptre of power, in this coun- 
try, is passing towards the north-west. Sir, there is to this no 
objection. The right belongs to that quarter of the country. 
Enjoy it : it is yours. 

7. Use the powers granted as you please. But take care, in 
your haste after effectual dominion, not to overload the scale by 
heaping it with these new acquisitions. Grasp not too eagerly at 
your purpose. In your speed after uncontrolled sway, trample 
not down this constitution. Already the old states sink in the 
estimation of members, when brought into comparison with these 
new countries. We have been told that " New Orleans was the 
most important point in the Union." A place out of the Union 
the most important place within it ! 

8. We have been asked, " What are some of the small states 
when compared with the Mississippi Territory ? " The gentleman 
from that territory spoke, the other day, of the Mississippi as " of 



204 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

a high road between " — good Heavens ! between what ? Mr. 
Speaker — why, the " Eastern and Western States." So that all 
the north-western territories, all the countries once the extreme 
western boundary of our Union, are hereafter to be denominated 
Eastern States ! 

Reply to the foregoing Speech. — Poindexter. 

1. Mr. Speaker, I enter, with lively sensibility, on that portion 
of the remarks made by the honorable gentleman from Massachu- 
setts, which menace insurrection and a dissolution of the Union. 
Had these sentiments fallen from the gentleman in the ardor of 
debate, while the imagination was inflamed with an unconquerable 
zeal to prove the impolicy of the measure under consideration, or 
had they been offered in the shape of possible results, I should 
have regarded them only with pity and contempt. But the gentle- 
man declares it to be his " deliberate opinion, that if this bill passes, 
the bonds of this Union are virtually dissolved ; that the states 
which compose it are free from their moral obligations ; and that, 
as it will be the right of all, so it will be the duty of some, to pre- 
pare definitely for a separation — amicably if they can, violently 
if they must." 

2. Influenced by a desire to stamp on these expressions their 
merited disgrace, and to preserve dignity and decorum in our 
deliberations, I felt it my duty to call the gentleman to order. 
Perhaps, in doing so, I was actuated more by a sudden impulse 
of feeling, than by an accurate knowledge of parliamentary 
proceedings. I am still, however, impressed with a conviction, 
that these sacred walls — the sanctuary of the liberties of the 
American people — ought not to be polluted by direct invitations 
to rebellion against the government of which we are a constituent 
part .; but the liberality and the courtesy of the house have over- 
ruled that opinion, and the gentleman was permitted to proceed. 

3. Mr. Speaker, the people of the Eastern States will never 
give their assent to a dissolution of the Union. They are bound 
to the western countiy by the inseparable ties of nature and of 
interest. The hardy and adventurous sons of New England will, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 2Q£ 

in a short time, compose a large portion of the population on the 
waters of the Mississippi. In that new and fertile region, the 
hand of industry is rewarded with a rich return of the comforts 
of life, which the liberality of its inhabitants distributes with 
benevolence and hospitality. 

4. Besides these natural bonds, which are every day increasing, 
between the eastern and western portions of the United States, 
there is a reciprocal advantage in the intercourse which is pre- 
served between them. The western country is peculiarly adapted 
to the pursuits of agriculture, and the River Mississippi is the great 
highway through which their bulky articles are conveyed to a 
suitable and profitable market. 

5. The Eastern States have long been, and will long continue 
to be, the carriers of the surplus products to the seaport cities of 
the United States, to the West Indies, and to Europe. Is it not, 
then, the interest of those who are engaged in the carrying trade 
to give encouragement to agriculture ? There are mutual ben- 
efits in this interchange of labor, which tend to promote the 
welfare of each section of the Union. No collision of interest 
can ever exist between the growers of hemp, flour, cotton, tobacco, 
and sugar, and the carrier who finds employment in their trans- 
portation to the countries in which they are consumed. If any 
advantage could be derived from a separation of these states, it 
would be found to preponderate in favor of the western division. 

6. We should at once become possessed of the public lands, 
which are said to be a fund on which the nation may rely for 
reyenue to an incalculable amount. These lands have been 
acquired at the national expense, and it would, therefore, be 
unreasonable and unjust to confer them wholly on the Western 
States. But if the deleterious consequences, which have been 
predicted by the gentleman from Massachusetts, should be real- 
ized, such will be the inevitable effect in relation to the territory 
belonging to the United States. 

7. Surely, sir, there is patriotism enough, even in the city of 
Boston, to counteract the deteriorating principles of that gentle- 
man. Let us adhere to the maxims of wisdom, and, by a union 

18 



206 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

of sentiment and action, convince the nations of Europe that we 
are too powerful to be conquered, and too happy to be seduced 
from the allegiance we owe to the government of our choice. 

The Village Blacksmith. — Longfellow. 

1. Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

2. His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat ; 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

3. Week in, week out, from morn till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

4. And children, coming home from school, 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly, 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

5. He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 207 

He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

6. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

7. Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing — 

Onward through life he goes : 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close ; 
Something attempted, something done, 

Has earned a night's repose. 

8. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought. 

To-morrow. — Cotton. 

To-morrow, didst thou say ! 
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow. 
Go to — I will not hear of it — To-morrow. 
'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury 
Against thy plenty — who takes thy ready cash, 
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promises, 
The currency of idiots — injurious bankrupt, 



208 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

That gulls the easy creditor ! — To-morrow ! 

It is a period nowhere to be found 

In all the hoary registers of Time, 

Unless, perchance, in the fool's calendar. 

Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society 

With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 

'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father; 

Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless 

As the fantastic visions of the evening. 

But soft, my friend — arrest the present moment : 
For, be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales : 
And though their flight be silent, and their path 
Trackless as the winged couriers of the air, 
They post to heaven, and there record thy folly, 
Because, though stationed on the important watch, 
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel, 
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved. 
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard, 
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar 
For every fugitive ; and when thou thus 
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal 
Of hood- winked Justice, who shall tell thy audit ? 

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio ; 
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings. 
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms ! far more precious 
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain. 
O, let it not elude thy grasp ; but, like 
The good old patriarch upon record, 
Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee. 

The Character of Washington. — D. Webster. 

1. America has furnished to the world the character of "Wash- 
ington ! And if our American institutions had done nothing else, 
that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 209 

2. Washington ! " First in war, first in peace, and first in the 
hearts of his countrymen ! " Washington is all our own ! The 
enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the 
United States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a coun- 
tryman ; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on 
his country and its institutions. I would cheerfully put the ques- 
tion, to-day, to the intelligence of Europe and the world, What 
character of the century, upon the whole, stands out, in the relief 
of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ? and I doubt 
not, that by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the answer would 
be, Washington ! 

3. This structure,* by its uprightness, its solidity, its durability, 
is no unfit emblem of his character. His public virtues and public 
principles were as firm as the earth on which it stands ; his per- 
sonal motives, as pure as the serene heaven in which its summit 
is lost. But, indeed, though a fit, it is an inadequate emblem. 
Towering high above the column which our hands have builded, — 
beheld, not by the inhabitants of a single city, or a single state, — 
ascends the colossal grandeur of his character, and his life. 

4. In all the constituents of the one, — in all the acts of the 
other, — in all its titles to immortal love, admiration, and renown, 

— it is an American production. It is the imbodiment and vin- 
dication of our transatlantic liberty. Born upon our soil, — of 
parents also born upon it, — never for a moment having had a 
sight of the Old World, — instructed, according to the modes of his 
time, only in the spare, plain, but wholesome elementary knowl- 
edge which our institutions provide for the children of the people, 

— growing up beneath, and penetrated by, the genuine influences 
of American society, — growing up amidst our expanding, but not 
luxurious, civilization, — partaking in our great destiny of labor, 
our long contest with unreclaimed nature and uncivilized man, — 
our agony of glory, the war of independence, — our great victory 
of peace, the formation of the Union, and the establishment of the 
Constitution, — he is all, all our own ! 



* Bunker Hill Monument. 
18* 



210 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

5. That crowded and glorious life, — 

* Where multitudes of virtues passed along, 
Each pressing foremost, in the mighty throng 
Contending to be seen, then making room 
For greater multitudes that were to come," — 

that life was the life of an American citizen 

6. I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every dark- 
ened moment of the state, in the midst of the reproaches of ene- 
mies and the misgiving of friends, — I turn to that transcendent 
name for courage and for consolation. To him who denies, or 
doubts, whether our fervid liberty can be combined with law, with 
order, with the security of property, with the pursuits and advance- 
ment of happiness, — to him who denies that our institutions are 
capable of producing exaltation of soul and the passion of true 
glory, — to him who denies that we have contributed any thing to 
the stock of great lessons and great examples, — to all these I 
reply by pointing to Washington ! 

Man was made to mourn. — Burns. 

1. When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One evening, as I wandered forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spied a man, whose aged step 

Seemed weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrowed o'er with years, 

And hoary was his hair. 

2. u Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? " 

Began the reverend sage ; 
" Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or haply, pressed with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began, 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man ! 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 211 

3. " The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Outspreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labor to support 

A haughty lordling's pride, — 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And every time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 

4. '^O man! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force give Nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 

5. " Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right. 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, — O, ill-matched pair ! — 

Show man was made to mourn. 

6. " A few seem favorites of fate, 

In Pleasure's lap caressed ; 
Yet think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blessed. 
But, O, what crowds, in every land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
Through weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 



212 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

7. "Many and sharp the numerous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

8. " See yonder poor, o'erlabored wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil : 
And see, his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

9. " If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,- 

By Nature's law designed, — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

10. " Yet let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast : 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn ! 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 213 

11. " O death ! the poor man's dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest. 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, O, a blest relief to those 

That, weary -laden, mourn ! " 

To his Grace the Duke of Grafton. — Junius. 

1. Relinquishing all idle views of amendment to your grace, or 
of benefit to the public, let me be permitted to consider your 
character and conduct merely as a subject of curious speculation. 
There is something in both which distinguishes you not only from 
all other ministers, but from all other men. 

2. It is not that you do wrong by design, but that you should 
never do right by mistake. It is not that your indolence and 
your activity have been equally misapplied, but that the first uni- 
form principle, or, if I may call it, the genius of your life, should 
have carried you through every possible change and contradiction 
of conduct without the momentary imputation or color of a virtue ; 
and that the wildest spirit of inconsistency should never once have 
betrayed you into a wise or honorable action. 

3. This, I own, gives an air of singularity to your fortune, as 
well as to your disposition. Let us look back together to a scene 
in which a mind like yours will find nothing to repent of. Let us 
try, my lord, how well you have supported the various relations 
in which you stood to your sovereign, your country, your friends, 
and yourself. Give us, if it be possible, some excuse to pos- 
terity, and to ourselves, for submitting to your administration. If 
not the abilities of a great minister, if not the integrity of a 
patriot, or the fidelity of a friend, show us, at least, the firmness 
of a man. 

4. The character of the reputed ancestors of some men has 
made it possible for their descendants to be vicious in the extreme 



21 ^ MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

without being degenerate. Those of your grace, for instance, left 
no distressing examples of virtue, even to their legitimate pos- 
terity ; and you may look back with pleasure to an illustrious nedi- 
gree, in which heraldry has not left a single good quality upon 
record to insult or upbraid you. 

5. You have better proofs of your descent, my lord, than the 
register of a marriage, or any troublesome inheritance of reputa- 
tion. There are some hereditary strokes of character, by which 
a family may be as clearly distinguished as by the blackest 
features of the human face. 

6. Charles the First lived and died a hypocrite. Charles the 
Second was a hypocrite of another sort, and should have died 
upon the same scaffold. At the distance of a century, we see 
their different characters happily revived and blended in your 
grace. Sullen and severe without religion, profligate without 
gayety, you live like Charles the Second, without being an amiable 
companion, and, for aught I know, may die as his father did, 
without the reputation of a martyr. 

A small Poet. — Butler. 

1. A small poet is one that would fain make himself that which 
nature never meant him - like a fanatic that inspires himself with 
his own whimseys. He sets up haberdasher of small poetry, with 
a very small stock and no credit. He believes it is invention 
enough to find out other men's wit ; and whatever he lights upon 
either in books or company, he makes bold with as his own. 

2. This he puts together so untowardly, that you may perceive 
his own wit has the rickets, by the swelling disproportion of the 
joints. You may know his wit not to be natural, 'tis so unquiet 
and troublesome in him ; for as those that have money but seldom, 
are always shaking their pockets when they have it, so does he 
when he thinks he has got something that will make him appear 
He is a perpetual talker; and you may know b V the freedom of 
his discourse that he came lightly by it, as thieves spend freely 
what they get J 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 215 

3. He is like an Italian thief, that never robs but he murders, 
to prevent discovery ; so sure is he to cry down the man from 
whom he purloins, that his petty larceny of wit may pass unsus- 
pected. He appears so over-concerned in all men's wits, as if 
they were but disparagements of his own ; and cries down all 
they do, as if they were encroachments upon him. 

4. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them, as justices 
do false weights and pots that want measure. When he meets 
with any thing that is very good, he changes it into small money, 
like three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He 
disclaims study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot 
flying, which appears to be very true, by his often missing of his 
mark. 

5. As for epithets, he always avoids those which are near akin 
to the sense. Such snatches are unlawful, and not fit to be made 
by a Christian poet ; and therefore all his care is to choose out 
such as will serve, like a wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse 
that needs a foot or two ; and if they will but rhyme now and then 
into the bargain, or run upon a letter, it is a work of superero- 
gation. 

6. For similitudes he likes the hardest and most obscure best ; 
for as ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem 
fairer than they are, so when an illustration is more obscure than 
the sense that went before it, it must of necessity make it appear 
clearer than it did ; for contraries are best set off by contraries. 

7. When he writes, he commonly steers the sense of his lines 
by the rhyme that is at the end of them, as butchers do calves 

fc by the tail. For when he has made one line, which is easy 
J enough, and has found out some sturdy, hard word, that will but 

rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron 

upon an anvil, into what form he pleases. 

8. There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry : a 
whole dictionary is scarcely able to contain them ; for there is 
hardly a pond, a sheep-walk, or a gravel pit in all Greece, but the 
ancient name of it is become a term of art in poetry. 

9. By this means, small poets have such a stock of able hard 



216 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

words lying by them, as Dryades, Hamadryades, Aonides, Fauni, 
Nymphce, Sylvani, &c, that signify nothing at all ; and such a 
world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish 
all the new inventions and " thorough reformations " that can 
happen between this and Plato's great year. 

Soliloquy of Anne Boleyn. — Milman. 

(From the dramatic poem, " Anne Boleyn.") 

I am alone — alone — 
Nor that cold, hateful pomp of fawning faces 
Pursues me, nor the true, officious love 
Of those whose hearts I would not wring, by seeming 
The wretch I am : so pour thee forth, mine heart, 
Pour thy full tide of bitterness ; for queens 
Must weep in secret when they weep. I saw it — 
'Twas no foul vision — with unblinded eyes 
I saw it : his foul hands, as once in mine, 
Were wreathed in hers ; he gazed upon her face 
Even with those fatal eyes, no woman looks at — 
I know it ! ah ! too well — nor madly dote. 
That eloquence, the self-same burning words 
That seize the awe-struck soul, when weakest, thrilled 
Her vainly-deaf averted ears. — O Heaven ! 
I thank thee that I cursed her not, nor him. 
Jane Seymour, like a sister did I deem thee. 
But what of that ? Thou'rt heaven-ordained to visit 
Her sins upon the head of her that dared 
To love, to wed another's lord. Mayst thou 
Ne'er know the racking anguish of this hour, 
The desolation of this heart. But thou, 
O thou, my crime, my madness ! thou, on whom 
The loftiest woman had been proud to dote, 
Had he been master of a straw-roofed cottage ! 
Was 't just to awe, to dazzle the young mind, 
That deemed its transport loyal admiration, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 217 

Submissive duty all, till it awoke 
And found it thrilling, deepest woman's love ? 
Too late, too early disabused — would Heaven 
That I were still abused ! Long, long I've felt 
Love's bonds fall one by one from thy palled heart. 
Well, 'tis o'er, and I 
Must sit alone on my cold eminence, 
All women's envy, mine own scorn and pity, 
And all the sweetness of these virgin lips, 
And all the pureness of this virgin bosom, 
And all the fondness of this virgin heart, 
s Forgotten, turned to scorn — perchance to loathing. 
Heaven ! was no way but this, and none but he 
To scourge this guilty heart ? Thy will be done. 
I've still a noble father, and a brother, 
And, powers of grace ! my mother — kill her not, 
Break not her heart, — for sure 'twill break to hear it. 
My child, my child, thou only wilt not feel it : 
Thy parent o'er thy face may weep, nor thou 
Be sadder for her misery ; thou wilt love me, 
Though thy false father scorn and hate. My mother — 
O, ne'er before would I have fled thy presence : 
Betray me not, my tear-swollen eyes. 

Eulogy on John Quincy Adams. — N. Lord. 

1. Mr. Adams's extraordinary sense of justice placed him in 
some attitudes of great dignity and sublimity, which deserve the 
special notice of young men. His defence of the right of peti- 
tion is probably the most exalted specimen of learned, independ- 
ent, and stirring eloquence in forensic history. 

2. He held that right to be the citadel of civil and religious 
liberty. He cared not who claimed it, on what occasions, with 
what arguments, or in what spirit. They might be wise, or 
foolish ; sane, or delirious ; Christians, Jews, pagans, or infidels. 

3. They might intend union, or disorganization ; life, or death ; 

19 



218 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

and their related measures might be in correspondence with their 
true or false ideas. It was not material. The principle was 
sacred. It was vital. It was worth more than church or state. 
It was worth more than the universe; for it was necessary to 
the true ends of life. It was fundamental to the being of society. 
There could be no universe without it. Wherefore it must be 
maintained, though the heavens fall. 

4. He threw himself with his exhaustless stores, and his mighty 
energies, into the deadly strife. He comprehended the whole 
scene, its difficulties, its dangers, and its results. It may be said 
that he went alone ; for who, of all the great men about him, had 
courage to take with him his advanced position ? or who, that 
dared, had ability to sustain with him the dreadful shock ? for he 
went to battle against a crazed and exasperated nation. 

5. Day after day, year after year, the contest was prolonged. 
It was severe, sublime, terrible. The heavens thundered ; light- 
nings glared ; the earth shook ; volcanoes belched out their glow- 
ing fragments ; lofty towers toppled down ; mountains were cast 
into the sea. Now we seem to lose him in the dust and smoke. 
His voice is drowned in the tumultuous din. Again his veteran 
form emerges. We see the gleaming of his steel. We hear the 
strokes of his thundering arm. His shout rises shrill above the 
fiery storm — " Justice ! Justice ! in the name of God — Justice 
and Liberty ! " He conquers. 

6. He reclines upon his armor, reeking, but not fainting, and 
utters his memorable acknowledgment of the Power that helped 
him — " Thank God, the seal is broken." Can we wonder that, 
when the conqueror at length fell, on the very scene of his 
victory, struck not by an earthly power, but by the hand of God, 
then the nation bowed its head ? 

A Case where Mercy should have mitigated Justice. — Lang- 

« HORNE. 

Seest thou afar yon solitary thorn, 

Whose aged limbs the heath's wild winds have torn ? 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 219 

While yet to cheer the homeward shepherd's eye, 

A few seem struggling in the evening sky ? 

Not many suns have hastened down the day, 

Or blushing moons immersed in clouds their way, 

Since there, a scene that stained their sacred light, 

With horror stopped a felon in his flight ; 

A babe, just born, that signs of life expressed, 

Lay naked o'er the mother's lifeless breast. 

The pitying robber, conscious that, pursued, 

He had no time to waste, yet stood and viewed ; 

To the next cot the trembling infant bore, 

And gave a part of what he stole before ; 

Nor known to him the wretches were, nor dear ; 

He felt as man, and dropped a human tear. 

Far other treatment she, who breathless lay, 

Found from a viler animal of prey. 

Worn with long toil on many a painful road, 

That toil increased by nature's growing load, 

When evening brought the friendly hour of rest, 

And all the mother thronged about her breast, 

The ruffian officer opposed her stay, 

And, cruel, bore her in her pangs away, — 

So far beyond the town's last limits drove, 

That to return were hopeless, had she strove. 

Abandoned there, with famine, pain, and cold, 

And anguish, she expired — the rest I've told. 

" Now let me swear — for by my soul's last sigh, 
That thief shall live, that overseer shall die." 
Too late ! — his life the generous robber paid, 
Lost by that pity which his steps delayed ! 
No soul-discerning Mansfield sat to hear, 
No Hertford bore his prayer to mercy's ear ; 
No liberal justice first assigned the jail, 
Or urged, as Camplin would have urged, his tale. 



220 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Address to the Mummy. 

1. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story !) 

In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago, 
When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 

And time had not begun to overthrow 
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 
Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 

2. Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy ; 

Thou hast a tongue — come, let us hear its tune : 
Thou'rt standing on thy legs, aboveground, Mummy, 

Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, 
Not like thin ghosts, or disimbodied creatures, 
But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. 

3. Tell us — for doubtless thou canst recollect — 

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ? 
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect 

Of either Pyramid that bears his name ? 
Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer ? 
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? 

4. Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden 

By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade ; 
Then say, what secret melody was hidden 

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? 
Perhaps thou wert a priest — if so, my struggles 
Are vain ; — Egyptian priests ne'er owned their juggles. 

5. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, 

Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh glass to glass ; 
Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat ; 

Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass ; 
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 
A torch at the great temple's dedication. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 221 

6. I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 

Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled, 
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, 

Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : 
Antiquity appears to have begun 
Long after thy primeval race was run. 

7. Since first thy form was in this box extended, 

We have, aboveground, seen some strange mutations ; 
The Roman empire has begun and ended ; 

New worlds have risen ; we have lost old nations, 
And countless kings have into dust been humbled, 
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. 

8. Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, 

When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, 
Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, 

O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, 
And shook the Pyramids with fear and wonder, 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

9. If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 

The nature of thy private life unfold : 
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast, 

And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled : — 
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and race ? 

10. Statue of flesh — immortal of the dead ! 
Imperishable type of evanescence ! 
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, 

And standest undecayed within our presence, 
Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, 
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. 
19* 



222 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

11. Why should this worthless tegument endure, 

If its undying guest be lost forever ? 
O, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure 

In living virtue ; that when both must sever, 
Although corruption may our frame consume, 
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom. 

Othello and lago. — Shakspeare. 

Iago. My noble lord 

Oth. What dost thou say, Iago ? 

Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady, 
Know of your love ? 

Oth. He did, from first to last. Why dost thou ask ? 

Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago ? 

Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted with her. 

Oth. O, yes ; and went between us veiy oft. 

Iago. Indeed ? 

Oth. Indeed ! ay, indeed. Discern'st thou aught in that ? 
Is he not honest ? 

Iago. Honest, my lord ? 

Oth. Ay, honest. 

Iago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oth. What dost thou think ? 

Iago. Think, my lord ? 

Oth. Think, my lord ? Why, thou dost echo me, 
As if there were some monster in thy thought 
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something ; 

I heard thee say but now, " thou lik'st not that," 

When Cassio left my wife. What didst not like ? 

And when I told thee, he was of my counsel 

In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst, " Indeed ? " 

And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 

As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 223 

Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought. 

Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth. I think thou dost : 
And, for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath, 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
For such things, in a false, disloyal knave, 
Are tricks of custom ; but in a man that's just, 
They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
That passion cannot rule. 

Iago. For Michael Cassio, 
I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 

Oth. I think so too. 

Iago. Men should be what they seem ; 
Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 

Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 

Iago. Why, then, I think that Cassio is an honest man. 

Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this ; 
I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
As thou dost ruminate ; and give thy worst of thoughts 
The worst of words. 

Iago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts ? — Why, say, they are vile and false ; 
As where's that palace, whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not ? Who has a breast so pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets, and law-days, and in sessions sit 
With meditations lawful ? 

Macduff. —Id. 

Macd. See, — who comes here ? 

Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 



224 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know him now. Pray Heaven, betimes remove 
The means that make us strangers ! 

Rosse. Sir, amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 

Rosse. Alas, poor country ! 
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
Be called our mother, but our grave ; where nothing, 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the air, 
Are made, not marked ; where violent sorrow seems 
A modern ecstasy : the dead man's knell 
Is there scarce asked, for whom ; and good men's lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
Dying, or e'er they sicken. 

Macd. 0, relation 
Too nice, and yet too true ! 

Mai. What is the newest grief? 

Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker. 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife ? 

Rosse. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children ? 

Rosse. Well, too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not battered at their peace ? 

Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did leave them. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; how goes it ? 

Rosse. I have words, 

That would be howled out in the desert air, 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern they ? 
The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief, 
Due to some single breast ? 

Rosse. No mind, that's honest, 
But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 225 

Macd. If it be mine, 
Keep it not from me ; quickly let me have it. 

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue forever, 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Ah ! I guess at it. 

Rosse. Your castle is surprised ; your wife and babes 
Savagely slaughtered : to relate the manner, 
Were, on the quarry of these murdered deer, 
To add the death of you. 

Mai Merciful Heaven ! 
What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
Give sorrow words ; the grief that does not speak 
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 

Macd. My children too ? — 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence ! my wife killed too ? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted : 
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge, 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. I shall do so ; 
But I must also feel it as a man. 
I cannot but remember such things were, 
That were most precious to me. Did Heaven look on, 
And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am ! 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
Fell slaughter on their souls. Heaven rest them now ! 

William Tell 

Gesler, the tyrant, Sarnem, his officer, and "William Tell, a Swiss peasant. 

Sar. Down, slave, upon thy knees before the governor, 
And beg for mercy. 
Ges. Does he hear ? 



226 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Sar. He does, but braves thy power. 
[To Tell] Down, slave, 
And ask for life. 

Ges. [ To Tell] Why speakest thou not ? 

Tell For wonder. 

Ges. Wonder ? 

Tell Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man. 

Ges. What should I seem ? 

Tell. A monster. 

Ges. Ha ! Beware ! — think on thy chains. 

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me down 
Prostrate to earth, methinks I could rise up 
Erect with nothing but the honest pride 
Of telling thee, usurper, to thy teeth, 
Thou art a monster. — Think on my chains ! 
How came they on me ? 

Ges. Darest thou question me ? 

Tell. Darest thou answer ? 

Ges. Beware my vengeance. 

Tell Can it more than kill ? 

Ges. And is not that enough ? 

Tell. No, not enough : — 
It cannot take away the grace of life — 
The comeliness of look that virtue gives — 
Its port erect, with consciousness of truth — 
Its rich attire of honorable deeds — 
Its fair report that's rife on good men's tongues : — 
It cannot lay its hand on these, no more 
Than it can pluck his brightness from the sun, 
Or with polluted finger tarnish it. 

Ges. But it may make thee writhe. 

Tell It may, and I may say, 
Go on, though it should make me groan again. 

Ges. Whence comest thou ? 

Tell. From the mountains. 

Ges. Canst tell me any news from them ? 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 227 

Tell. Ay ; — they watch no more the avalanche. 

Ges. Why so ? 

Tell. Because they look for thee. The hurricane 
Comes unawares upon them : from its bed 
The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track. 

Ges. What then? 

Tell. They thank kind Providence it is not thou. 
Thou hast perverted nature in them. The earth 
Presents her fruits to them, and is not thanked. 
The harvest sun is constant, and they scarce 
Return his smile. Their flocks and herds increase, 
And they look on as men who count a loss. 
There's not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them, but 
The thought of thee doth wither to a curse, 
As something they must lose, and had far better 
Lack. 

Ges. 'Tis well. I'd have them as their hills, 
That never smile, though wanton summer tempt 
Them e'er so much. 

Tell. But they do sometimes smile. 

Ges. Ah ! — when is that ? 

Tell. When they do pray for vengeance. 

Ges. Dare they pray for that ? 

Tell. They dare, and they expect it, too. 

Ges. From whence ? 

Tell. From Heaven, and their true hearts. 

Ges. [ To Sarnem.] Lead in his son. Now will I take 
Exquisite vengeance. [ To Tell, as the boy enters.] I have 

destined him 
To die along with thee. 

Tell. To die ! for what ? he's but a child. 

Ges. He's thine, however. 

Tell. He is an only child. 

Ges. So much the easier to crush the race. 

Tell. He may have a mother. 



228 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Ges. So the viper hath — 
And yet who spares it for the mother's sake ? 

Tell. I talk to stone. I'll talk to it no more. 
Come, my boy, I taught thee how to live, — 
I'll teach thee how to die. 

Ges. But first, Pd see thee make 
A trial of thy skill with that same bow. 
Thy arrows never miss, 'tis said. 

Tell. What is the trial ? 

Ges. Thou look'st upon thy boy as though thou guessest it. 

Tell. Look upon my boy ! What mean you ? 
Look upon my boy as though I guessed it ! — 
Guessed the trial thou'dst have me make ! — 
Guessed it instinctively ! Thou dost not mean — 
No, no — Thou wouldst not have me make 
A trial of my skill upon my child ! 
Impossible ! I do not guess thy meaning. 

Ges. I'd see thee hit an apple on his head, 
Three hundred paces off. 

Tell. Great Heaven ! 

Ges. On this condition only will I spare 
His life and thine. 

Tell. Ferocious monster ! make a father 
Murder his own child ! 

Ges. Dost thou consent ? 

Tell. With his own hand ! 

The hand I've led him when an infant by ! 
My hands are free from blood, and have no gust 
For it, that they should drink my child's. 
I'll not murder my boy, for Gesler. 

Boy. You will not hit me, father. You'll be sure 
To hit the apple. Will you not save me, father ? 

Tell. Lead me forth — I'll make the trial. 

Boy. Father 

Tell. Speak not to me ; — 
Let me not hear thy voice — Thou must be dumb, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 229 

And so should all things be. — Earth should be dumb, 
And heaven, unless its thunder muttered at 
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it. — 
Give me my bow and quiver. 

Ges. When all is ready. Sarnem, measure hence 
The distance — three hundred paces. 

Tell. Will he do it fairly ? 

Ges. What is't to thee, fairly or not ? 

Tell. [Sarcastically.'] O, nothing, a little thing, 
A very little thing ; I only shoot 
At my child ! 

[Sarnem prepares to measure.'] 

Tell. Villain, stop ! You measure against the sun. 

Ges. And what of that ? 
What matter whether to or from the sun ? 

Tell. Pd have it at my back. The sun should shine 
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots. 
I will not shoot against the sun. 

Ges. Give him his way. [Sarnem paces and goes out.] 

Tell. I should like to see the apple I must hit. 

Ges. [Picks out the smallest one.] There, take that. 

Tell. You've picked the smallest one. 

Ges. I know I have. Thy skill will be 
The greater if thou hittest it. 

Tell. [Sarcastically.] True ! —true ! I did not think of that. 
I wonder I did not think of that. A larger one 
Had given me a chance to save my boy. 
Give me my bow. Let me see my quiver. 

Ges. Give him a single arrow. [ To an attendant.] 
[Tell looks at it, and breaks it.] 

Tell. Let me see my quiver. It is not 
One arrow in a dozen I would use 
To shoot with at a dove, much less a dove 
Like that. 

Ges. Show him the quiver. 

[Sarnem returns, and takes the apple and the boy to place 
20 



230 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

them. While this is doing, Tell conceals an arrow under his 
garment. He then selects another arrow, and says,] 

Tell. Is the boy ready ? Keep silence now 
For Heaven's sake, and be my witnesses, 
That if his life 's in peril from my hand, 
'Tis only for the chance of saving it. 
For mercy's sake, keep motionless and silent. 

[He aims, and shoots in the direction of the boy. In a mo- 
ment, Sarnem enters with the apple on the arrow^s point.] 

Sarnem. The boy is safe. 

Tell. [Raising his arms.] Thank Heaven ! 

[As he raises his arms the concealed arrow falls.] 

Ges. [Picking it up.] Unequalled archer ! why was this 
concealed. 

Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy. 

Harmony among Brethren. — Percival. 

1. Two brothers, named Timon and Demetrius, having quar- 
relled with each other, Socrates, their common friend, was soli- 
citous to restore amity between them. Meeting, therefore, with 
Demetrius, he thus accosted him : " Is not friendship the sweetest 
solace in adversity, and the greatest enhancement of the blessings 
of prosperity ? " " Certainly it is," replied Demetrius ; " because 
our sorrows are diminished, and our joys increased, by sympa- 
thetic participation." 

2. "Amongst whom, then, must we look for a friend? " said 
Socrates. " Would you search among strangers ? They cannot 
be interested about you. Amongst your rivals ? They have an 
interest in opposition to yours. Amongst those who are much 
older, or younger, than yourself? Their feelings and pursuits 
will be widely different from yours. Are there not, then, some 
circumstances favorable, and others essential, to the formation of 
friendship ? " " Undoubtedly there are," answered Demetrius. 
" May we not enumerate," continued Socrates, " amongst the 
circumstances favorable to friendship, long acquaintance, common 
connections, similitude of age, and union of interest ? " 

3. " I acknowledge," said Demetrius, " the powerful influence 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 231 

of these circumstances ; but they may subsist, and yet others be 
wanting, that are essential to mutual amity." " And what," said 
Socrates, " are those essentials which are wanting in Timon ? " 
" He has forfeited my esteem and attachment," answered Deme- 
trius. '.' And has he also forfeited the esteem and attachment of 
the rest of mankind ? " continued Socrates. " Is he devoid of 
benevolence, generosity, gratitude, and other social affections ? " 

4. " Far be it from me," cried Demetrius, " to lay so heavy 
a charge upon him. His conduct to others is, I believe, irre- 
proachable ; and it wounds me the more that he should single me 
out as the object of his unkindness." " Suppose you have a very 
valuable horse," resumed Socrates, " gentle under the treatment 
of others, but ungovernable when you attempt to use him ; would 
you not endeavor, by all means, to conciliate his affections, and 
to treat him in the way most likely to render him tractable ? 
Or, if you have a dog, highly prized for his fidelity, watchfulness, 
and care of your flocks, who is fond of your shepherds, and play- 
ful with them, and yet snarls whenever you come in his way ; 
would you attempt to cure him of his fault by angry looks or 
words, or by any other marks of resentment ? " 

5. " You would surely pursue an opposite course with him ; and 
is not the friendship of a brother of far more worth than the ser- 
vices of a horse, or the attachment of a dog ? Why, then, do 
you delay to put in practice those means which may reconcile 
you to Timon ? " " Acquaint me with those means," answered 
Demetrius, " for I am a stranger to them." " Answer me a few 
questions," said Socrates. " If you desire one of your neighbors 
should invite you to his feast, when he offers a sacrifice, what 
course would you take ? " " I would first invite him to mine." 

6. " And how would you induce him to take the charge of 
your affairs when you are on a journey ? " " I should be for- 
ward to do the same good office to him in his absence." " If you 
be solicitous to remove a prejudice, which he may have received 
against you, how would you then behave towards him ? " " I 
should endeavor to convince him, by my looks, words, and actions, 
that such a prejudice was ill founded." " And if he appeared 
inclined to reconciliation, would, you reproach him with the injus- 



232 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

tice he had done you ? " " No," answered Demetrius ; " I would 
repeat no grievances." " Go," said Socrates, " and pursue that 
conduct towards your brother, which you would practise to a 
neighbor. His friendship is of inestimable worth ; and nothing 
is more lovely in the sight of Heaven, than for brethren to dwell 
together in unity." 

Harley^s Death. — Makenzie. 

1. " There are some remembrances," said Harley, " which rise 
involuntarily on my heart, and make me almost wish to live. I 
have been blessed with a few friends, who redeem my opinion of 
mankind. I recollect, with the tenderest emotion, the scenes of 
pleasure I have passed among them ; but we shall meet again, 
my friend, never to be separated. There are some feelings which 
perhaps are too tender to be suffered by the world." 

2. " The world, in general, is selfish, interested, and unthinking, 
and throws the imputation of romance, or melancholy, on every 
temper more susceptible than its own. I cannot but think, in 
those regions which I contemplate, if there is any thing of mor- 
tality left about us, that these feelings will subsist : — they are 
called — perhaps they are — weaknesses, here ; but there may 
be some better modifications of them in heaven, which may 
deserve the name of virtues." 

3. He had scarcely finished them, when the door opened, and 
his aunt appeared, leading in Miss Walton. " My dear," says she, 
" here is Miss Walton, who has been so kind as to come and inquire 
for you herself." I could perceive a transient glow upon his face. 
He rose from his seat. " If to know Miss Walton's goodness," 
said he, " be a title to deserve it, I have some claim." She 
begged him to resume his seat, and placed herself on the sofa 
beside him. I took my leave. 

4. His aunt accompanied me to the door. He was left with 
Miss Walton alone. She inquired anxiously after his health. " I 
believe," said he, "from the accounts which my physicians un- 
willingly give me, that they have no great hopes of my recovery." 
She started as he spoke ; but, recollecting herself immediately, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 233 

endeavored to flatter him into a belief that his apprehensions were 
groundless. " I know," said he, " that it is usual with persons at 
my time of life, to have these hopes which your kindness sug- 
gests ; but I would not wish to be deceived. 

5. " To meet death as becomes a man, is a privilege bestowed 
on few : I would endeavor to make it mine : nor do I think 
that I can ever be better prepared for it than now : 'tis that 
chiefly which determines the fitness of its approach." " Those 
sentiments," answered Miss Walton, " are just ; but your good 
sense, Mr. Harley, will own that life has its proper value. As 
the province of virtue, life is ennobled ; as such, it is to be desired. 
To virtue has the Supreme Director of all things assigned 
rewards enough, even here, to fix its attachments." 

6. The subject began to overpower her. Harley lifted up 
his eyes from the ground. " There are," said he, in a low voice, 
— " there are attachments, Miss Walton." His glance met hers : 
they both betrayed a confusion, and were both instantly with- 
drawn. He paused some moments. " I am," he said, " in such 
a state as calls for sincerity : let that alone excuse it. It is, per- 
haps, the last time we shall ever meet. I feel something particu- 
larly solemn in the acknowledgment ; yet my heart swells to 
make it, awed as it is by a sense of my presumption, — by a sense 
of your perfections." 

7. He paused again. " Let it not offend you," he resumed, 
" to know their power over one so unworthy. My heart will, I 
believe, soon cease to beat, even with that feeling which it shall 
lose the latest. To love Miss Walton could not be a crime. If 
to declare it is one, the expiation will be made." Her tears were 
now flowing without control. " Let me entreat you," said she, " to 
have better hopes — let not life be so indifferent to you ; if my 
wishes can put any value upon it — I will not pretend to misun- 
derstand you — I know your worth — I have long known it — I 
have esteemed it — what would you have me say ? — I have loved 
it as it deserved ! " He seized her hand : a languid color red- 
dened his cheek — a smile brightened faintly in his eye. 

8. As he gazed on her, it grew dim, it fixed, it closed — he 

20* 



234 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

sighed, and fell back on his seat. Miss Walton screamed at the 
sight — his aunt and the servants rushed into the room — they 
found them lying motionless together. His physician happened 
to call at that instant — every art was tried to recover them — - 
with Miss Walton they succeeded — but Harley was gone forever. 

Extract from a Speech on the Reform Bill. — Sydney Smith. 

1. Stick to the bill — it is your Magna Charta, and your 
Runnymede. King John made a present to the barons. King 
William has made a similar present to you. Never mind — com- 
mon qualities, are good in common times. If a man does not 
vote for the bill, he is unclean — the plague spot is upon him ; 
push him into the lazaretto of the last century, with Wetherell 
and Saddler ; purify the air before you approach him ; bathe 
your hands in chloride of lime, if you have been contaminated 
by his touch. 

2. So far from its being a merely theoretical improvement, I 
put it to any man, who is himself embarked in a profession, or 
has sons in the same situation, if the unfair influence of borough- 
mongers has not perpetually thwarted him in his lawful career of 
ambition and professional emolument. 

3. " I have been in three general engagements at sea," said an 
old sailor — " have been twice wounded — I commanded the 
boats when the French frigate, the Astrolabe, was cut out so gal- 
lantly." " Then you are made a post captain ? " " No, I was 
very near it ; but Lieutenant Thomson cut me out, and I cut out 
the French frigate. His father is town clerk of the borough 

of which Lord F is member, and there my chance was 

finished." 

4. In the same manner, all over England, you will find great 
scholars rotting on curacies — brave captains starving in garrets 
— profound lawyers decayed and mouldering in the inns of 
court, because the parsons, warriors, and advocates of borough- 
mongers must be crammed to saturation, before there is a morsel 
of bread for the man who does not sell his votes, and put his 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 235 

country up to auction ; and though this is of every day occur- 
rence, the borough system, we are told, is no practical evil. 

5. Who can bear to walk through a slaughter-house ? — blood, 
garbage, stomachs, entrails, legs, tails, kidneys, horrors. I often 
walk a mile to avoid it. What a scene of disgust and horror is 
an election — the base and infamous traffic of principles — a can- 
didate of high character reduced to such means — the perjury 
and evasion of agents — the detestable rapacity of voters — the 
ten days' dominion of Mammon and Belial. The bill lessens it — 
begins the destruction of such practices — affords some chance, 
and some means, of turning public opinion against bribery, and of 
rendering it infamous. 

6. But the thing I cannot and will not bear is this — what 
right has this lord, or that marquis, to buy ten seats in parliament, 
in the shape of boroughs, and then to make laws to govern me ? 
And how are these masses of power redistributed ? The eldest 
son of my lord is just come from Eton — he knows a good deal 
about iEneas, and Dido, Apollo, and Daphne — and that is all ; 
and to this boy his father gives a six hundredth part of the power 
of making laws, as he would give him a horse, or a double- 
barrelled gun. 

7. Then Vellum, the steward, is put in — an admirable man — 
he has raised the estates, watched the progress of the family road 
and canal bills ; and Vellum shall help to rule over the people 
of Israel. 

8. A neighboring country gentleman, Mr. Plumpkin, hunts with 
my lord — opens him a gate or two, while the hounds are running 
— dines with my lord — agrees with my lord — wishes he could 
rival the Southdown sheep of my lord ; and upon Plumpkin is 
conferred a portion of the government. 

9. Then there is a distant relation of the same name, in the 
county militia, with white teeth, who calls up the carriage at the 
opera, and is always wishing O'Connell was hanged, drawn, and 
quartered. 

10. Then a barrister, who has written an article in the Quar- 
terly, and is very likely to speak, and refute M'Culloch ; and 



236 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

these five people, in whose nomination I have had no more agency 
than I have in the nomination of the toll-keepers of the Bosphorus, 
are to make laws for me and my family — to put their hands in 
my purse, and to sway the future destinies of this country ; and 
when the neighbors step in, and beg permission to say a few 
words before these persons are chosen, there is a universal cry of 
ruin, confusion, and destruction. 

11. We have become a great people, under Vellum and 
Plumpkin — under Vellum and Plumpkin our ships have covered 
the ocean — under Vellum and Plumpkin our armies have secured 
the strength of the hills — to turn out Vellum and Plumpkin is 
not reform, but revolution. 

12. Was there ever such a ministry ? Was there ever before 
a real ministry of the people ? Look at the condition of the 
country when it was placed in their hands — the state of the house 
when the incoming tenant took possession : windows broken, chim- 
neys on fire, mobs round the house threatening to pull it down, 
roof tumbling, rain pouring in. It was courage to occupy it ; it was 
a miracle to save it ; it will be the glory of glories to enlarge and 
expand it, and to make it the eternal palace of wise and temperate 
freedom. 

Duelling. — Dymond. 

1. It is usual with those who do foolish and vicious things, or 
who do things from foolish or vicious motives, to invent some 
fiction by which to veil the evil or folly, and to give it, if possible, 
a creditable appearance. This has been done in the case of duel- 
ling. We hear a great deal about honor, and spirit, and courage, 
and other qualities equally pleasant, and as respects the duellist, 
equally fictitious. 

2. The want of sufficient honor, and spirit, and courage, is 
precisely the very reason why men fight. Pitt fought with Tier- 
ney ; upon which Pitt's biographer writes — "A mind like his, 
cast in no common mould, should have arisen superior to a low, 
unworthy prejudice, the folly of which it must have perceived, and 
the wickedness of which it must have acknowledged." 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 237 

3. Could Mr. Pitt be led away by that false shame which sub- 
jects the decisions of reason to the control of fear, and renders the 
admonitions of conscience subservient to the powers of ridicule ? 
Low prejudice, folly, wickedness, false shame, and fear, are the 
motives which the complacent duellist dignifies with the titles of 
honor, spirit, courage. 

4. This, to be sure, is very politic ; he would not be so silly as 
to call his motives by their right names. Others, of course, join 
in the chicanery. They reflect that they themselves may one 
day have " a meeting," and they wish to keep up the credit of a 
system which they are conscious they have not principle enough 
to reject. 

5. We are shocked and disgusted at the immolation of women 
amongst the Hindoos, and think that, if such a sacrifice were 
attempted in England, it would excite feelings of the utmost repul- 
sion and abhorrence. Of the custom of immolation, duelling is 
the sister. 

6. Their parents are the same, and, like other sisters, their 
lineaments are similar. Why does a Hindoo meet the funeral 
pile ? To vindicate and maintain her honor. What is the nature 
and character of the Hindoo's honor ? Quite factitious. How is 
the motive applied to the Hindoo ? To her fears of reproach. 

7. What, then, is the difference between the two customs ? 
This — that one is practised in the midst of pagan darkness, and 
the other in the midst of Christian light. And yet these very men 
give their guineas to the Missionary Society, lament the degrada- 
tion of the Hindoos, and expatiate upon the sacred duty of enlight- 
ening them with Christianity ! " Physician, heal thyself." 



Cicero against M. Antony. 

1. And you are strenuous in commemorating Csesar ? in pro- 
fessing your love for him when dead ? What higher honor did 
he ever reach than to have a pedestal, a shrine, a temple, a priest ? 
As, then, Jupiter, as Mars, as Romulus, so the god Julius has his 
priest, — and that priest is Mark Antony ! Wherefore do you 



238 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

pause ? Why are you not ordained ? Fix your day, — look for 
some one to consecrate you: we are colleagues, — that no one 
will question. 

2. Detested wretch! whether you play the minister of the 
living tyrant, or the priest of the dead ! I would ask, too, if you 
are aware what day this is, — if you don't know that yesterday 
was the fourth of the Roman games in the Circus ? that you 
yourself proposed a law for setting apart the fifth day to the wor- 
ship of Csesar ? Then why are we not all in our sacramental 
robes ? 

3. Why suffer the honors decreed to the new god by your law 
to be withheld ? Have you permitted the day to be desecrated 
by having prayers and yet withholding pedestals ? Either let the 
worship of your god be abolished at once, or let it be observed 
throughout. You will ask if I desire to see his pedestal, his tem- 
ple, his priest. For my part, I desire nothing of the kind. 

4. But you who are the advocate of Caesar — what have you 
to say for defending some things and taking no care of others ? 
unless, peradventure, you may be pleased to confess that the rule 
of your conduct is your own interest, not his dignity. What an- 
swer, then, do you make ? I wait upon your eloquence. I knew 
your grandfather to be a great orator, and yourself to be fluent 
of speech ; he, indeed, never harangued naked — your person we 
have seen displayed, unadorned, in public debate. Will you make 
any reply to these things, or will you dare to utter at all ? 

5. But let us pass over former times, and come to the present 
— this one day — this blessed individual day — I say, this very 
point of time in which I am speaking. Defend it if you can ! 
Why is the Forum hedged in with armed troops ? Why stand 
your satellites listening to me, sword in hand ? Why are the 
gates of the temple of Peace not flung open ? Why have you 
marched into the town men of all nations — but chiefly barbarous 
nations, — savages from Ithyrsea, armed with their slings ? 

6. You pretend that it is all to protect your person. Is it not 
better far to die a thousand deaths, than be unable to live in one's 
own country without guards of armed men ? But, trust me, there 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 239 

is no safety in defences like these. We must be fenced round by 
the afFections and the good will of our countrymen, not by their 
arms, if we would be secure. 

Satan rouses his Legions lying in the Burning Lake. — Paradise 
Lost, I. 283. 

He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend 
Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
Behind him cast ; the broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening from the top of Fesole, 
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
His spear, to equal which the tallest pine, 
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
Of some great Ammiral, were but a wand 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 
Over the burning marie, not like those steps 
On heaven's azure, and the torrid clime 
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire : 
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 
Of that inflamed sea he stood and called 
His legions, angel-forms, who lay entranced, 
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks 
In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, 
High overarched, imbower ; or scattered sedge 
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed 
Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew 
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, 
While with perfidious hatred they pursued 
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 
From the safe shore their floating carcasses 
And broken chariot wheels ; so thick bestrown, 



240 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood, 

Under amazement of their hideous change. 

He called so loud, that all the hollow deep 

Of hell resounded : " Princes, potentates, 

Warriors, the flower of heaven, once yours, now lost, 

If such astonishment as this can seize 

Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this place 

After the toil of battle to repose 

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 

To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven ? 

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn * 

To adore the conqueror ? who now beholds 

Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood 

With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 

His swift pursuers from heaven gates discern 

The advantage, and descending, tread us down 

Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 

Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? 

Awake, arise, or be forever fallen ! " 

The Poetry of Burns. — Professor Wilson. 

1. There is no delusion, no affectation, no exaggeration, no 
falsehood in the spirit of Burns's poetry. He rejoices like an 
untamed enthusiast, and he weeps like a prostrate penitent. In joy 
and in grief the whole man appears. Some of his finest effusions 
were poured out before he left the fields of his childhood, and 
when he scarcely hoped for other auditors than his own heart, 
and the simple dwellers of the hamlet. 

2. He wrote not to please or surprise others, — we speak of 
those first effusions, — but in his own creative delight ; and even 
after he had discovered his power to kindle the sparks of nature 
wherever they slumbered, the effect to be produced seems to have 
been seldom considered by him, assured that his poetry could not 
fail to produce the same passion in the hearts of other men from 
which it boiled over in his own. Out of himself, and beyond his 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 241 

own nearest and dearest concerns, he well could, but he did not 
much love often or long to go. 

3. His imagination wanted not wings broad and strong for 
highest flights. But he was most at home when walking on this 
earth, through this world, even along the banks and braes of the 
streams of Coila. It seems as if his muse were loath to admit 
almost any thought, feeling, or image, drawn from any other 
region than his native district — the hearth-stone of his father's 
hut — the still or troubled chamber of his own generous and 
passionate bosom. 

4. Dear to him the jocund laughter of the reapers on the corn- 
field, the tears and sighs which his own strains had won from the 
child of nature enjoying the midday hour of rest beneath the 
shadow of the hedge-row tree. With what pathetic personal 
power, from all the circumstances of his character and condition, 
do many of his humblest lines affect us ! Often, too often, as we 
hear him singing, we think that we see him suffering. 

5. " Most musical, most melancholy," he often is, even in 
his merriment. In him, alas ! the transports of inspiration are 
but too closely allied with reality's kindred agonies ! The strings 
of his lyre sometimes yield their finest music to the sighs of 
remorse or repentance. Whatever, therefore, be the faults or 
defects of the poetry of Burns, — and no doubt it has many, — it 
has, beyond all that was ever written, this greatest of all merits, 
— intense, life-pervading, and life-breathing truth. 

The Claims of Ireland. — Grattan. 

1. The people of Ireland have proceeded until the faculty of 
the nation is bound up to the great act of her own redemption. I 
am not very old, and yet I remember Ireland a child. I have fol- 
lowed her growth with anxious wishes, and beheld with astonish- 
ment the rapidity of her progress, from injuries to arms — from 
arms to liberty. I have seen her mind enlarge, her maxims open, 
and a new order of days burst in upon her. 

2. You are not now afraid of the French, nor afraid of the 

21 



242 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

English, nor afraid of one another. You are no longer an in- 
solvent gentry without privilege, except to tread upon a crest- 
fallen constituency, nor a constituency without privilege, except 
to tread upon a Catholic body ; you are now a united people, a 
nation manifesting itself to Europe in signal instances of glory. 

3. Turn to the rest of Europe, and you will find the ancient 
spirit has every where expired. Sweden has lost her liberty ; 
England is declining ; the other nations support their consequence 
by mercenary armies, or on the remembrance of a mighty name ; 
but you are the only people that have recovered their constitu- 
tion, — recovered it by steady virtue. 

4. You have departed from the example of other nations, and 
have become an example to them. You not only excel modern 
Europe, but you excel what she can boast of old. Liberty, in 
former times, was recovered by the quick feelings and rapid im- 
pulse of the populace, excited by some strong object presented to 
their senses. 

5. Such an object was the daughter of Virginius sacrificed to 
virtue ; such were the seven bishops, whose meagre and haggard 
looks expressed the rigor of their sufferings ; but no history can 
produce an instance of men like you, musing for years upon 
oppression, and then, upon a determination of right, rescuing 
the land. 

6. This nation is connected with England, not by allegiance 
only, but by liberty ; — the crown is one great point of union, but 
Magna Charta is a greater : we could get a king any where, but 
England is the only country from which we could get a constitu- 
tion ; and it is this which makes England your natural connection. 

7. Ireland has British privileges, and is by them connected with 
Britain : both countries are united in liberty. This island was 
planted by British privileges, as well as by British men ; it is a 
connection, not, as Judge Blackstone has falsely said, by conquest, 
but as I have repeatedly said, by charter. Liberty, we say, 
with England ; but at all events, — Liberty. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



243 



The Servility of France under the Imperial Government of 
Bonaparte. — Channing. 

1. We have thus considered some of the means by which Bo- 
naparte consolidated and extended his power. We now see him 
advanced to that imperial throne on which he had long fixed his 
eager eye. We see France alternately awed and dazzled by the 
influences we have described, and at last surrendering, by public, 
deliberate acts, without a struggle or a show of opposition, her 
rights, liberties, interests, and power, to an absolute master, and to 
his posterity forever. Thus perished the name and forms of 
the republic. 

2. Thus perished the hopes of philanthropy. The air which a 
few years ago resounded with the shouts of a great people casting 
away their chains, and claiming their birthright of freedom, now 
rung with servile cries of long life to a blood-stained usurper. 
There were, indeed, generous spirits, true patriots, like our own 
Lafayette, still left in France. But, few and scattered, they were 
left to shed in secret the tears of sorrowful and indignant despair. 

3. By this base and disastrous issue of their revolution, the 
French nation not only renounced their own rights, but brought 
reproach on the cause of freedom, which years cannot wash away. 
This is to us a more painful recollection than all the desolations 
which France spread through Europe, and than her own bitter 
sufferings when the hour of retribution came upon her. 

4. The fields which she laid waste are again waving with 
harvest ; and the groans which broke forth through her cities and 
villages, when her bravest sons perished by thousands and ten 
thousands on the snows of Russia, have died away, and her wasted 
population is renewed. 

5. But the wounds which she inflicted on freedom by the 
crimes perpetrated in that sacred name, and by the abject spirit 
with which that sacred cause was deserted, are still fresh and 
bleeding. 

6. France not only subjected herself to a tyrant, but, what is 
worse, she has given tyranny every where new pleas and argu- 



244 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

ments, and imboldened it to preach openly, in the face of Heaven, 
the impious doctrines of absolute power and unconditional 
submission. 



TJie Basis of the American System of Government. — Webster. 

1. Gentlemen, our country stands, at the present time, on com- 
manding ground. Older nations, with different systems of gov- 
ernment, may be somewhat slow to acknowledge all that justly 
belongs to us. But we may feel, without vanity, that America is 
doing her part in the great work of improving human affairs. 
There are two principles, gentlemen, strictly and purely Amer- 
ican, which are now likely to overrun the civilized world. Indeed, 
they seem the necessary results of civilization and knowledge. 

2. These are, first, popular governments, restrained by written 
constitutions ; and secondly, universal education. Popular gov- 
ernments, and general education, acting and reacting, mutually 
producing and reproducing each other, are the mighty agencies 
which, in our days, appear to be exciting, stimulating, and chan- 
ging civilized societies. 

3. Man, every where, is now found demanding a participation 
in government, and he will not be refused ; and he demands 
knowledge as necessary to self-government. On the basis of 
these two principles, liberty and knowledge, our own American 
system rests. As members of society, as lovers of our country, is 
there any thing we can desire for it better than that, as ages and 
centuries roll over it, it may possess the same invaluable institu- 
tions which it now enjoys ? 

4. Our course, gentlemen, is onward, straight onward, and 
forward. Let us not turn to the right hand, nor to the left. Our 
path is marked out for us, clear, plain, bright, distinctly defined, 
like the Milky Way across the heavens. If we are true to our 
country, in our day and generation, and those who come after us 
shall be true to it also, assuredly, assuredly we shall elevate her 
to a pitch of prosperity and happiness, of honor and power, never 
yet reached by any nation beneath the sun. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 245 

From the " Buried Valley." — Mellen. 

'Twas now the triumph of the hurricane — 
Deep night, and power ! 
Night 'mid the bellowing storm ! 
And down the sweltering vale, 
The mountain air flew quick and warm, 
As though some fiery gale 
Were driving from the riven earth, 
Before the hot volcano's birth ! 
The garnered terrors of the sky came out 
With battle and with shout, 
And oft, upon its wildest route, 
The tempest-pause, and lengthened wail, 
And the rattling of the rain ! 
Then bowed each mountain tower — 
The rock of other days, 
From its summit to its base ! 
The valley heard the coming flood, 
And reeled its iron walls, 
As, 'mid the red revealing 
Of the broad flash, it rolled like blood, 
And earth sent back the joyous call, 
Above it pealing ! 
And in the blasting light 
That rode upon the darkness, I could see, 
Leafless and branchless as it rose 
Along those beetling brows, 
The solitary pine, 

Up pointing through the drifting clouds of night, 
In desolate sublimity ! 
Old scathed and quivering trees — 
The last and baldest of their line, 
The sentinels of centuries ! 
Then suddenly I caught the misty brow 
Of yon embattled ridge, where now, 
21* 



246 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

In squadrons thick and fast, 

Of terrible array, 

Treading in mighty ranks those summits gray, 

The whirlwind clouds like pillars passed, 

Till, 'mid a field of flame, 

They broke in deluge — and a river, 

Tearing its hundred channels, came, 

Making the frightened glen and hill-top quiver ! 

Onward in leap and plunge it came, 

And the grinding earth sprung up in flame ; 

And the voice of the rocks, as they clave asunder, 

Rose clear o'er the sounding sea of thunder ! 

And the light from the van of that terrible march, 

Spread upwards and over the driving arch, 

Till the fire that broke from their mountain way 

Revealed tide and tempest to living day ! 

'Twas there ! — 'twas here ! 

The granite shook beneath my feet — 

Back from the waving brink 

Like light I sprung, and saw it sink 

Off from the flashing precipice, 

With a roaring and a hiss, 

As though in loud career, 

Red ruin in its gulf of revelry to meet ! 

And there, amid the blaze 

Right on its vengeful path, 

The echoing highway of its wrath, 

One lowly roof appears ! 

Great God ! and has devoted man 

Who prays for length of years, 

Thus dared the earthquake's van ? 

Breathes there a being here, 

In this lone land of fear, 

The shadow of the terrible ? 

Lo ! then, and where the light gleams full 

Under that beetling dome, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 247 

There is the cottage home ! 

Now fixed as statues grew my gaze ! 

Forth from that little cabin sprung 

A thing of life — and — suddenly — another ! 

A human form — and others round it clung. 

God ! perhaps some frantic mother 
Bowed with her children ! — see, 
They issue with their arms upflung, 
As if in hurried prayer 

For the great hills to fall, and yet they flee ; 

A household — forth, at night — in agony ! 

Sped on by black despair ! 

In vain — in vain ! 

The tide is on them — flash on flash 

The red earth rolls, a maddening main ; 

But they heed not, hear not cry nor crash, 

Nor yet the fiery rain ; 

And ere their hands have met 

To clasp in common doom, 

The whelming foot of Destiny is set 

Above their traceless tomb ! 

1 saw them swept 
Before that rocky wave ; 
They slept, 

And Chaos was their grave. 

No more — no more ! 

Darkness my vision fills ; 

One shriek of horror to the winds I pour ; 

— I fell upon the hills. 

Military Talent not the highest Endowment. — Channing. 

1. Military talent, even of the highest order, is far from hold- 
ing the first place among intellectual endowments. It is one of 
the lower forms of genius ; for it is not conversant with the high- 
est and richest objects of thought. 



248 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

2. We grant that a mind, which takes in a wide country at a 
glance, and understands, almost by intuition, the positions it affords 
for a successful campaign, is a comprehensive and vigorous one. 
The general, who .disposes his forces so as to counteract a greater 
force ; who supplies by skill, science, .and invention, the want of 
numbers ; who dives into the counsels of his enemy, and who 
gives unity, energy, and success to a vast variety of operations, in 
the midst of casualties and obstructions which no wisdom could 
foresee, — manifests great power. 

3. But still the chief work of a general is to apply physical 
force ; to remove physical obstructions ; to avail himself of physi- 
cal aids and advantages ; to act on matter ; to overcome rivers, 
ramparts, mountains, and human muscles ; and these are not the 
highest objects of mind, nor do they demand intelligence of the 
highest order ; and accordingly nothing is more common than to 
find men, eminent in this department, who are wanting in the 
noblest energies of the soul ; in habits of pi'ofound and liberal 
thinking, in imagination and taste, in the capacity of enjoying 
works of genius, and in large and original views of human nature 
and society. 

4. The office of a great general does not differ widely from 
that of a great mechanician, whose business it is to frame new 
combinations of physical forces, to adapt them to new circum- 
stances, and to remove new obstructions. Accordingly, great 
generals, away from the camp, are often no greater men than the 
mechanician taken from his workshop. In conversation they are 
often dull. Deep and refined reasonings they cannot compre- 
hend. 

5. We know that there are splendid exceptions. Such was 
Caesar, at once the greatest soldier and the most sagacious states- 
man of his age ; whilst, in eloquence and literature, he left behind 
almost all who had devoted themselves exclusively to these pur- 
suits. But such cases are rare. The conqueror of Napoleon, 
the hero of Waterloo, possesses undoubtedly great military 
talents ; but we do not understand that his most partial admirers 
claim for him a place in the highest class of minds. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 249 

6. We will not go down, for illustration, to such men as Nelson, 
— a man great on the deck, but debased by gross vices, and who 
never pretended to enlargement of intellect. To institute a 
comparison, in point of talent and genius, between such men and 
Milton, Bacon, and Shakspeare, is almost an insult on these 
illustrious names. 

7. Who can think of these truly great intelligences ; of the 
range of their minds through heaven and earth ; of their deep 
intuition into the soul ; of their new and glowing combinations of 
thought ; of the energy with which they grasped and subjected to 
their main purpose the infinite materials of illustration which 
nature and life afford ; — who can think of the forms of transcend- 
ent beauty and grandeur which they created, or which were 
rather emanations of their own minds ; of the calm wisdom and 
fervid imagination which they conjoined ; of the voice of power, 
in which, " though dead, they still speak," and awaken intellect, 
sensibility, and genius in both hemispheres ? Who can think of 
such men, and not feel the immense inferiority of the most gifted 
warrior, whose elements of thought are physical forces and physi- 
cal obstructions, and whose employment is the combination of the 
lowest class of objects, on which a powerful mind can be em- 
ployed ? 

The Pilgrims. — Everett. 

1. From the dark portals of the star-chamber, and in the stern 
text of the acts of uniformity, the Pilgrims received a commission 
more efficient than any that ever bore the royal seal. Their ban- 
ishment to Holland was fortunate ; the decline of their little com- 
pany in the strange land was fortunate ; the difficulties which they 
experienced in getting the royal consent to banish themselves to 
this wilderness were fortunate ; all the tears and heart-breakings 
of that ever-memorable parting at Delfthaven had the happiest 
influence on the rising destinies of New England. 

2. All this purified the ranks of the settlers. These rough 
touches of fortune brushed off the light, uncertain, selfish spirits. 



250 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

They made it a grave, solemn, self-denying expedition, and 
required of those who engaged in it to be so too. They cast a 
broad shadow of thought and seriousness over the cause, and if 
this sometimes deepened into melancholy and bitterness, can we 
find no apology for such a human weakness ? 

3. Their trials of wandering and exile, of the ocean, the win- 
ter, the wilderness, and the savage foe, were the final assurances 
of success. It was these that put far away from our fathers' cause 
all patrician softness, all hereditary claims to preeminence. No 
effeminate nobility crowded into the dark and austere ranks of the 
Pilgrims. No Carr nor Villiers would lead on the ill-provided band 
of despised Puritans. No well-endowed clergy were on the alert 
to quit their cathedrals, and set up a pompous hierarchy in the 
frozen wilderness. No craving governors were anxious to be 
sent over to our cheerless El Dorados of ice and of snow. 

4. No, they could not say they had encouraged, patronized, or 
helped the Pilgrims ; their own cares, their own labors, their own 
councils, their own blood contrived all, achieved all, bore all, 
sealed all. They could not afterwards fairly pretend to reap 
where they had not strown ; and as our fathers reared this broad 
and solid fabric with pains and watchfulness, unaided, barely tol- 
erated, it did not fall when the favor, which had always been 
withholden, was changed into wrath ; when the arm, which had 
never supported, was raised to destroy. 

5. Methinks I see it now, — that one solitary, adventurous ves- 
sel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects 
of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold it 
pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious 
voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and 
winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight 
of the wished-for shore. I see them now scantily supplied with 
provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison ; 
— delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route ; — and now 
driven in fury before the raging tempest, on the high and giddy 
waves. 

6. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 25 i 

The laboring masts seem straining from their base ; — the dismal 
sound of the pumps is heard ; — the ship leaps, as it were, madly, 
from billow to billow; — the ocean breaks, and settles with 
ingulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening, 
shivering weight against the staggered vessel. I see them, escaped 
from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, 
and landed at last, after a five months 1 passage, on the ice-clad 
rocks of Plymouth, — weak and weary from the voyage, — poorly 
armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of their 
shipmaster for a draught of beer on board, drinking nothing 
but water on shore, — without shelter, — without means, — sur- 
rounded by hostile tribes. 

7. Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any prin- 
ciple of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful 
of adventurers ? Tell me, man of military science, in how many 
months were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes, enu- 
merated within the early limits of New England ? Tell me, 
politician, how long did the shadow of a colony, on which your 
conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant 
coast ? 

8. Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, the 
deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures of other times, 
and find the parallel of this. Was it the winter's storm, beating 
upon the houseless heads of women and children ; was it hard 
labor and spare meals ; was it disease ; was it the tomahawk ; 
was it the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, 
and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection 
of the loved and left, beyond the sea ; was it some, or all of these 
united, that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy 
fate ? And is it possible, that neither of these causes, that not 
all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope ? Is it possi- 
ble, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy, not so 
much of admiration as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so 
steady, a growth so wonderful, an expansion so ample, a reality 
so important, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, so glorious ? 



252 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Johnson and Hume. — Carlyle. 

1. It is worthy of note that, in our little British isle, the two 
grand antagonisms of Europe should have stood imbodied, under 
their very highest concentration, in two men produced simulta- 
neously among ourselves. Samuel Johnson and David Hume, as 
was observed, were children of the same year ; through life they 
were spectators of the same life-movement ; often inhabitants of 
the same city. Greater contrast, in all things, between two great 
men could not be. 

2. Hume, well-born, completely provided for, whole in body 
and mind, of his own determination forces a way into literature. 
Johnson, poor, moonstruck, diseased, forlorn, is forced into it 
" with the bayonet of necessity at his back." And what a part 
did they severally play there ! As Johnson became the father 
of all succeeding tories, so was Hume the father of all succeed- 
ing whigs ; for his own Jacobitism was but an accident, as worthy 
to be named Prejudice as any of Johnson's. 

3. In spiritual stature they are almost equal ; both great among 
the greatest ; yet how unlike the likeness ! Hume has the 
widest methodizing, comprehensive eye ; Johnson the keenest for 
perspicacity and minute detail : so had, perhaps chiefly, their 
education ordered it. Both were, by principle and habit, stoics : 
yet Johnson with the greater merit ; for he alone had very much 
to triumph over; further, he alone ennobled his stoicism into 
devotion. 

4. To Johnson, life was a prison, to be endured with heroic 
faith ; to Hume, it was little more than a foolish Bartholomew 
Fair show-booth, with the foolish crowdings and elbowings of 
which it was not worth while to quarrel ; the whole would break 
up, and be at liberty, so soon. Both realized the highest task of 
manhood — that of living like men ; each died not unfitly, in his 
way. Hume, as one with factitious, half-false gayety, taking leave 
of what was itself wholly but a lie ; Johnson, as one with awe- 
struck, yet resolute and piously expectant heart, taking leave of a 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 253 

reality to enter a reality still higher. Johnson had the harder 
problem of it from first to last : whether, with some hesitation, 
we can admit that he was intrinsically the better-gifted, may 
remain undecided. 

5. The two men now rest, the one in Westminster Abbey 
here, the other in the Calton Hill churchyard of Edinburgh. 
Through life they did not meet. As contrasts, " like in unlike," 
love each other, so might they two have loved, and communed 
kindly, had not the terrestrial dross and darkness, that was in 
them, withstood ! One day, their spirits, what truth was in each, 
will be found working, living in harmony and free union, even 
here below. 

6. They were the two half-men of their time : whoso should 
combine the intrepid candor and decisive scientific clearness of 
Hume with the reverence, the love, and devout humility, of 
Johnson, were the whole man of a new time. Till such whole 
man arrive for us, and the distracted time admit of such, might 
the Heavens but bless poor England with half-men worthy to tie 
the shoe-latchets of these, resembling these even from afar ! 
Be both attentively regarded, let the true effort of both prosper; — 
and for the present, both take our affectionate farewell ! 

The Perfect Orator. — Sheridan. 

1. Imagine to yourselves a Demosthenes, addressing the most 
illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate 
of the most illustrious of nations depended. How awful such a 
meeting ! how vast the subject ! Is man possessed of talents 
adequate to the great occasion ? Adequate ! Yes, superior. By 
the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost 
in the dignity of the orator ; and the importance of the subject, 
for a while, superseded by the admiration of his talents. With 
what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with 
what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the 
whole man, and at once captivate his reason, his imagination, 
and his passions ! 

22 



254 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

2. To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most im- 
proved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses 
is here unemployed ; not a faculty that he possesses but is here 
exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work ; 
all his external testify their energies. Within, the memory, the 
fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy ; without, every 
muscle, every nerve, is exerted ; not a feature, not a limb, but 
speaks. 

3. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind 
through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously vibrate 
those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity 
of minds in such a multitude, by the lightning of eloquence they 
are melted into one mass ; the whole assembly, actuated in one 
and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have 
but one voice. The universal cry is, " Let us march against 
Philip — Let us fight for our Liberties — Let us conquer 
or die ! " 

Mount Sinai. — J. T. Headley. 

1. Behold the white tents of Israel scattered like snow-flakes 
at the base of that treeless, barren mountain. The hum of the 
mighty population is there ; and those flowing tents, on which the 
parting sun is leaving his farewell glories, are the only pleasing 
objects that meet the eye in this dreary region. A solemn hush 
is on every thing as the moon sails up the heavens, flooding with 
her gentle light the tented host. 

2. Moses has declared that on the third morning the eternal 
God is to place his feet on that distant mountain top in presence 
of all the people. Awe-struck and expectant, the sons of Jacob 
go from tent to tent to speak of this strange event, and then come 
out and look on the mysterious mountain on which it is to tran- 
spire. Unconscious of its high destiny, the distant summit leans 
against the solemn sky, and nothing there betokens preparation 
for the stupendous scene. 

3. But at length the morning comes, and that vast encampment 
is filled with the murmur of the moving multitude, all turned 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISJES. 255 

anxiously to distant Sinai. And lo ! a solitary cloud comes drift- 
ing along the morning sky, and catches against the top of the 
mountain. So have I seen a cloud caught by an Alpine summit, 
and held firmly there. But the most vivid impression I ever got 
of this scene was from Mount Vesuvius. The mysterious cloud it 
wraps around its own head, concealing the brightness and terror 
within, always reminded me of the cloud on Sinai. And then the 
tenacity with which it would cling there. 

4. When the midnight heavens were black with tempests, and 
the sea was one wild waste of waves, and the clouds were dash- 
ing like maddened spirits over the sky before the blast, — with 
every flash of lightning that illuminated the gloom, I have 
caught the distant top of Vesuvius, with that cloud around its 
head, moveless as a rock amidst the furious blast, while thunder, 
and flame, and motion were within. So did the cloud rest on 
Sinai as the people looked, and suddenly the thunder began to 
speak from its depths, and the fierce lightning traversed its bosom, 
gleaming and flashing through every part of it. That cloud was 
God's pavilion ; the thunder was its sentinels, and the lightning 
the lances' points, as they moved round the sacred trust. 

5. The commotion, which from the first arrested every eye and 
chained every tongue, grew wilder every moment, till the suc- 
cessive claps of thunder were like the explosion of ten thousand 
cannon shaking the earth. Amid this incessant firing of heaven's 
artillery, suddenly from out the bosom of that cloud came a single 
trumpet blast, not like the thrilling music of a thousand trumpets, 
that herald the shock of cavalry, but one solitary clarion note, 
with no sinking cadence and rising swell, but an infinite sound 
rising in its ascension power, till the universe was filled with 
the strain. 

6. The incessant thunders that rock the heights cannot, drown 
it ; for clearer, fuller, louder, it peals on over the astonished spec- 
tators, till their hearts sink away in fear, and Nature herself 
stands awe-struck and trembling before it. And lo ! columns of 
smoke begin to rise fast and furious from that mysterious cloud, 
as if a volcano had opened in its bosom, and the pent-up elements 



256 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

were discharging themselves in the upper air; and the steady 
mountain rocks to and fro on its base, as if in the grasp of an 
earthquake. " And the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of 
a great furnace, and the whole mountain quaked greatly." 

7. Amid this rapid roll of thunder, and flashing of lightning, 
and fiercely ascending volumes of smoke, and convulsive throbs 
of Sinai, and while that trumpet strain still " waxed louder and 
louder," Moses led the trembling Israelites forth to the foot of the 
mountain. Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the thunders hushed 
their voice, and the last echoes of the trumpet died away, and 
all was still. And from that silent cloud came a voice more fear- 
ful than they all — the voice of Jehovah calling Moses up into the 
mount. The great lawgiver of Israel departed from his people, 
and with a solemn step was seen scaling the rocks and climbing 
the heights, till at last the cloud received him in its bosom. 

The Nooility of Johnson. — Carlyle. 

1. As for Johnson, I have always considered him to be, by 
nature, one of our great English souls ; a strong and noble man ; 
so much left undeveloped in him to the last : in a kindlier ele- 
ment, what might he not have been, — poet, priest, sovereign 
ruler ! On the whole, a man must not complain of his " ele- 
ment," of his " time," or the like ; it is thriftless work doing so. 
His time is bad : well, then, he is there to make it better ! — 
Johnson's youth was poor, isolated, hopeless, very miserable. 

2. Indeed, it does not seem possible that, in any the favora- 
blest outward circumstances, Johnson's life could have been other 
than a painful one. The world might have had more of profita- 
ble work out of him, or less ; but his effort against the world's 
work could never have been a light one. Nature, in return for 
his nobleness, had said to him, " Live in an element of diseased 
sorrow." Nay, perhaps the sorrow and the nobleness were inti- 
mately, and even inseparably, connected with each other. 

3. At all events, poor Johnson had to go about girt with con- 
tinual hypochondria, physical and spiritual pain. Like a Her- 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 257 

cules with the burning Nessus' shirt on him, which shoots in on 
him dull, incurable misery ; the Nessus shirt not to be stripped 
off, which is his own natural skin! In this manner, he had 
to live. 

4. Figure him there, with his scrofulous diseases, with his 
great greedy heart, and unspeakable chaos of thoughts ; stalking 
mournful as a stranger in this earth ; eagerly devouring what 
spiritual thing he could come at ; school languages and other 
merely grammatical stuff, if there was nothing better! The 
largest soul that was in all England ; and provision made for it 
of " fourpence halfpenny a day." Yet a giant, invincible soul ; a 
true man's. 

5. One remembers, always, that story of the shoes at Oxford ; 
the rough, seamy-faced, raw-boned college servitor stalking about, 
in winter season, with his shoes worn out ; how the charitable 
gentleman commoner secretly places a new pair at his door ; and 
the raw-boned servitor, lifting them, looking at them near, with 
his dim eyes, with what thoughts, — pitches them out of window ! 
Wet feet, mud, frost, hunger, or what you will ; but not beggary ; 
a whole world of squalor, rudeness, confused misery and want, 
yet of nobleness and manfulness withal. 

6. It is a type of the man's life, this pitching away of the 
shoes. An original man ; — not a second-hand, borrowing or 
begging man. Let us stand on our own basis at any rate ! On 
such shoes as we ourselves can get. On frost and mud, if you 
will, but honestly on that ; — on the reality and substance which 
Nature gives us, not on the semblance, — on the thing she has 
given another than us ! 

The " Pilgrirn's Progress" — Macaulay. 

1. That wonderful book, while it obtains admiration from the 
most fastidious critics, is loved by those who are too simple to 
admire it. Dr. Johnson, all whose studies were desultory, and 
who hated, as he said, to read books through, made an excep- 
tion in favor of the " Pilgrim's Progress." That work, he said, 
22* 



258 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

was one of the two or three works which he wished longer. It 
was by no common merit, that the illiterate sectary extracted 
praise like this from the most pedantic of critics and the most 
bigoted of tories. 

2. In the wildest part of Scotland, the " Pilgrim's Progress " is 
a greater favorite than " Jack the Giant-Killer." Every reader 
knows the strait and narrow path, as well as he knows a road 
in which he has gone backward and forward a hundred times. 
This is the highest miracle of genius — that things which are not 
should be as though they were, that the imaginations of one mind 
should become the personal recollections of another. 

3. And this miracle the tinker has wrought. There is no 
ascent, no declivity, no resting-place, no turnstile, with which we 
are not perfectly acquainted. The wicket gate, and the desolate 
swamp which separates it from the City of Destruction ; the long 
line of road, as straight as rule can make it ; the interpreter's 
house, and all its fair shows ; the prisoner in the iron cage ; the 
palace, at the doors of which armed men kept guard, and on the 
battlements of which walked persons clothed all in gold ; the cross 
and the sepulchre ; the steep hill and the pleasant arbor ; the 
stately front of the House Beautiful by the wayside ; the low 
green valley of Humiliation, rich with grass and covered with 
flocks, — all are as well known to us as the sights of our own street. 

4. Then we come to the narrow place where Apollyon strode 
right across the whole breadth of the way, to stop the journey of 
Christian, and where afterwards the pillar was set up to testify- 
how bravely the pilgrim had fought the good fight. As we 
advance, the valley becomes deeper and deeper. The shade of 
the precipices on both sides falls blacker and blacker. 

5. The clouds gather overhead. Doleful voices, the clanking 
of chains, and the rushing of many feet to and fro, are heard 
through the darkness. The way, hardly discernible in gloom, 
runs close by the mouth of the burning pit, which sends forth its 
flames, its noisome smoke, and its hideous shapes, to terrify the 
adventurer. 

6. All the stages of the journey, all the forms which cross or 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 259 

overtake the pilgrims, — giants, and hobgoblins, ill-favored ones 
and shining ones, the tall, comely, swarthy Madam Bubble, with 
her great purse by her side, and her fingers playing with her 
money ; the black man in the bright vesture ; Mr. Worldly 
Wiseman and my Lord Hategood ; Mr. Talkative and Mrs. 
Timorous, — are all actually existing beings to us. We follow 
the travellers through their allegorical progress with interest 
not inferior to that with which we follow Elizabeth from Siberia 
to Moscow, or Jeanie Deans from Edinburgh to London. Bun- 
yan is almost the only writer that ever gave to the abstract the 
interest of the concrete. In the works of many celebrated authors, 
men are mere personifications. We have not an Othello, but 
jealousy ; not an Iago, but perfidy ; not a Brutus, but patriotism. 

Description of a Storm. — Thobison. 

Behold, slow settling o'er the lurid grove, 
Unusual darkness broods, and growing gains 
The full possession of the sky, surcharged 
With wrathful vapor, from the secret beds, 
Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. 
Thence nitre, sulphur, and the fiery spume 
Of fat bitumen, steaming on the day, 
With various tinctured trains of latent flame, 
Pollute the sky, and in yon baleful cloud, 
A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate, 
Ferment ; till, by the touch ethereal roused, 
The dash of clouds, or irritating war 
Of fighting winds, while all is calm below, 
They furious spring. A boding silence reigns, 
Dread through the dun expanse ; save the dull sound 
That from the mountain, previous to the storm, 
Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, 
And shakes the forest leaf without a breath. 
Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes 
Descend ; the tempest-loving raven scarce 



260 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze 
The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens 
Cast a deploring eye, by man forsook, 
Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast, 
Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave. 
Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all, 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 
And following slower, in explosion vast 
The Thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first, heard solemn, o'er the verge of heaven, 
The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes, 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet 
Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts , 
And opens wider ; shuts, and opens still 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. 
Follows the loosened, aggravated roar, 
Enlarging, deepening, mingling ; peal on peal 
Crushed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 

Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail, 
Or prone-descending rain. Wide rent, the clouds 
Pour a whole flood ; and yet, its flame unquenched, 
The unconquerable lightning struggles through, 
Rugged and fierce, or in red whirling balls, 
And fires the mountains with redoubled rage. 
Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine 
Stands a sad, shattered trunk ; and, stretched below, 
A lifeless group, the blasted cattle lie : 
Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look 
They wore alive, and ruminating still 
In fancy's eye ; and there the frowning bull, 
And ox half raised. Struck on the castled cliff, 
The venerable tower and spiry fane 
Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 261 

Start at the flash, and from their deep recess, 
Wide flaming out, their trembling inmates shake. 

The Tale of an Indian Maid. — Bryant. 

There was a maid, 
The fairest of the Indian maids, bright-eyed, 
With wealth of raven tresses, a light form, 
And a gay heart. About her cabin door 
The wide old woods resounded with her song 
And fairy laughter all the summer day. 
She loved her cousin ; such a love was deemed, 
By the morality of those stern tribes, 
Incestuous, and she struggled hard and long 
Against her love, and reasoned with her heart, 
As simple Indian maiden might. In vain. 

She went 
To weep where no eye saw, and was not found 
When all the merry girls were met to dance, 
And all the hunters of the tribe were out. 

The keen-eyed Indian dames 
Would whisper to each other, as they saw 
Her wasting form, and say, " The girl will dieP 
One day into the bosom of a friend, 
A playmate of her young and innocent years, 
She poured her griefs. " Thou knowest, and thou alone," 
She said, " for I have told thee, all my love, 
And guilt, and sorrow. I am sick of life. 
All night I weep in darkness, and the morn 
Glares on me as upon a thing accursed, 
That has no business on the earth. I hate 
The pastimes and the pleasant toils that once 
I loved ; the cheerful voices of my friends 
Have an unnatural horror in mine ear. 
In dreams, my mother, from the land of souls, 
Calls me and chides me. All that look on me 
23 



262 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Do seem to know my shame ; I cannot bear 
Their eyes ; I cannot from my heart root out 
The love that wrings it so, and I must die." 
It was a summer morning, and they went 
To this old precipice. About the cliffs 
Lay garlands, ears of maize, and shaggy skins 
Of wolf and bear, the offerings of the tribe 
Here made to the Great Spirit, for they deemed, 
Like worshippers of the elder time, that God 
Doth walk on the high places, and affect 
The earth-o'erlooking mountains. She had on 
The ornaments with whiclTner father loved 
To deck the beauty of his bright-eyed girl, 
And bade her wear when stranger warriors came 
To be his guests. 

Beautiful lay the region of her tribe 
Below her — waters resting in the embrace 
Of the wide forest, and maize-planted glades 
Opening amid the leafy wilderness. 
She gazed upon it long, and at sight 
Of her own village, peeping through the trees, 
And her own dwelling, and the cabin roof 
Of him she loved with an unlawful love, 
And came to die for, a warm gush of tears 
Run from her eyes. But when the sun grew low, 
And the hill shadows long, she threw herself 
From the steep rock, and perished. 

What is Glory ? What is Fame ? — Motherwell. 

What is Glory ? What is Fame ? 
The echo of a long-lost name ; 
A breath, an idle hour's brief talk ; 
The shadow of an arrant nought ; 
A flower that blossoms for a day, 
Dying next morrow ; 



263 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

A stream that hurries on its way, 

Singing of sorrow ; 
The last drop of a bootless shower, 
Shed on a sere and leafless bower ; 
A rose stuck in a dead man's breast ; — 
This is the world's fame, at the best. 
What is Fame ? and what is Glory ? 
A dream ; a jester's lying story, 
To tickle fools withal, or be 
A theme for second infancy ; 
A joke scrawled on an epitaph ; 
A grin at Death's own ghastly laugh ; 
A visioning that tempts the eye, 
But mocks the touch — nonentity ; 
A rainbow, substanceless as bright, 

Flitting forever 
O'er hill top to more distant height, 

Nearing us never ; 
A bubble blown by fond conceit, 
In very sooth, itself to cheat ; 
The witch-fire of a frenzied brain ; 
A fortune that to lose were gain ; 
A word of praise, perchance of blame ; 
The wreck of a time-bandied name ; — 
Ay, this is Glory ! this is Fame ! 



Influence of Circumstances in Education. — Professor 
Haddock. 

1. It is not generally considered how little we are educated by 
institutions and instruction, and how much by circumstances. 
The influence of teachers and seminaries of learning is tempo- 
rary and occasional, confined to particular departments, and never, 
even during the hoars of instruction, entirely engrossing the atten- 
tion. The scenes of nature and life around us act upon us 



264 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

always, and insinuate their influence into every part of our 
character. 

2. They are before us, when first we open our eyes to the 
light ; infancy and youth are passed in their presence ; the indus- 
try of manhood is all associated with them ; and the heart of age 
clings to them, when the transitory objects of its early loves have 
all disappeared. Day and night, and the seasons in their cease- 
less revolutions, with their attendant ministers of fear or hope, of 
weal or woe, to man, — the storm and the flood, the rain and the 
sunshine, seed-time and harvest, cold and heat, — who shall esti- 
mate their various influences, in the different climates of the 
earth, upon the character and happiness of its human inhab- 
itants ? 

3. The peculiar features of our native place, — the sunny vale, 
or bleak, alpine heights, — the collection of inappropriate, half-fin- 
ished, naked houses, called " the street," — with a church, once 
painted white, still red behind, with shattered windows and a lean- 
ing steeple, — an unenclosed graveyard, — an ill-made school- 
house, planted in the sand, — a grog-shop, and a dingy, dirty, 
sloppy tavern, under the sign of the Red Indian or the Punch- 
Bowl, — without a garden, without a shade-tree, without one 
pleasing sight, and with no music but of a fife and drum, and no 
odor but of gin and tobacco ; or, on the other hand, a neat, vine- 
clad assemblage of smiling homes, mansion and cottage, alter- 
nately interrupting the wide expanse of living verdure, reposing 
in the dewy brightness of morning, or the fragrant light of declin- 
ing day, and all clustering, in manifest sympathy, around the 
decent church and churchyard, the scene of frequent praise and 
of final rest to the tenants of the hamlet, — O, who can fail to see 
how different the effect of these different scenes upon the charac- 
ter and destiny of men ? How different the life we lead in the 
midst of them ! how different the recollections we carry with us 
as we leave them ! how different the feelings with which we 
return to them ! 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 265 

Darkness. — Byron. 
I had a dream, which was not all a dream. 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air ; 
Morn came and went, and came and brought no day, 
And men forgot their passions in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light ; 
And they did live by watchfires — and the thrones, 
The palaces of crowned kings — the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell, 
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed, 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes 
To look once more into each other's face ; 
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanoes and their mountain-torch ; 
A fearful hope was all the world contained ; 
Forests were set on fire — but hour by hour 
They fell and faded — and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash — and all was black. 
The brows of men, by the despairing light, 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down 
And hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest 
Their chins upon their clinched hands, and smiled ; 
And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up 
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 
The pall of a past world ; and then again 
With curses cast them down upon the dust, 
And gnashed their teeth, and howled : the wild birds shrieked, 
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
And flap their useless wings ; the wildest brutes 
23 



266 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawled 

And twined themselves among the multitude, 

Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food ; 

And War, which for a moment was no more, 

Did glut himself again ; — a meal was bought 

With blood, and each sat sullenly apart, 

Gorging himself in gloom : no love was left ; 

All earth was but one thought — and that was death, 

Immediate and inglorious : and the pang 

Of famine fed upon all entrails — men 

Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh : 

The meagre by the meagre were devoured ; 

Even dogs assailed their masters, all save one, 

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 

The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, 

Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead 

Lured their lank jaws : himself sought out no food, 

But with a piteous and perpetual moan, 

And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 

Which answered not with a caress — he died. 

The crowd was famished by degrees ; but two 

Of an enormous city did survive, 

And they were enemies ; they met beside 

The dying embers of an altar-place, 

Where had been heaped a mass of holy things 

For an unholy usage ; they raked up, 

And shivering scraped, with their cold, skeleton hands, 

The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 

Blew for a little life, and made a flame 

Which was a mockery ; then they lifted up 

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 

Each other's aspects — saw, and shrieked, and died — 

Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 

Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 

Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, 

The populous and the powerful was a lump, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 267 

Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless — 

A lump of death — a chaos of hard clay. 

The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, 

And nothing stirred within their silent depths ; 

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, 

And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped, 

They slept on the abyss without a surge ; 

The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave, 

The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 

The winds were withered in the stagnant air, 

And the clouds perished ; darkness had no need 

Of aid from them. She was the universe. 



On the Occasion of presenting the Sword of Washington and 
the Staff of Franklin. — J. Q. Adams. 

1. In presenting the resolution which I am now to offer, it may, 
perhaps, be expected that I should accompany it with some suit- 
able remarks ; and yet, sir, I never arose to address this house 
under a deeper conviction of the want of words to express the 
emotions that I feel. It is precisely because occasions like this 
are adapted to produce universal sympathy, that little can be said 
by any one, but what, in the language of the heart, in tones not 
loud, but deep, every one present has silently said to himself. 

2. My respected friend from Virginia, by whom this offering 
of patriotic sentiment has been presented to the representative 
assembly of the nation, has, it seems to me, already said all that 
can be said suitable to this occasion. In parting from him, as, 
after a few short days, we must all do, it will, on my part, be sor- 
rowing, that, in all probability, I shall see his face and hear his 
voice no more. But his words of this day are planted in my 
memory, and will there remain till the last pulsation of my 
heart. 

3. The sword of Washington ! The staff- of Franklin ! O 
sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these names ! 
Washington, whose sword, as my friend has said, was never 



268 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

drawn but in the cause of his country, and never sheathed when 
wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin, the philosopher of the 
thunderbolt, the printing press, and the ploughshare ! What 
names are these in the scanty catalogue of the benefactors of 
human kind ! 

4. Washington and Franklin ! What other two men, whose 
lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom, have left 
a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they 
lived, and upon all after time ? 

5. Washington ! the warrior and the legislator ! in war, con- 
tending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his coun- 
try, and for the freedom of the human race ; ever manifesting, 
amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence for 
the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; 
— in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among his own 
countrymen, into harmony and union ; and giving to that very 
sword, now presented to his country, a charm more potent than 
that attributed in ancient times to the lyre of Orpheus. 

6. Franklin ! the mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, 
in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to 
wealth, and, in the shades of obscurity, the path to greatness ; in 
the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the 
lightning of its fatal blast ; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the 
still more afflictive sceptre of oppression ; while descending into 
the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic Ocean, bearing in his 
hand the charter of independence, which he had contributed to 
form, and tendering, from the self-created nation to the mightiest 
monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial 
wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection and safety to 
the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable 
cruelty and merciless rapacity of war ; and, finally, in the last 
stage of life, with fourscore winters upon his head, under the tor- 
ture of an incurable disease, returning to his native land, closing 
his days as the chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, 
after contributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Wash- 
ington, and recording his name, under the sanction of devout 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 269 

prayer, to that constitution under the authority of which we are 
here assembled, as the representatives of the North American 
people, to receive, in their name and for them, these venerable 
relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great 
confederated republic, — these sacred symbols of our golden age. 
9. May they be deposited among the archives of our govern- 
ment, and every American who shall hereafter behold them, 
ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme Ruler of 
the universe by whose tender mercies our Union has been hitherto 
preserved through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this tur- 
bulent world, — and of prayer for the continuance of these bless- 
ings to our beloved country, from age to age, till time shall be no 
more. 

The Fruits of Luxury. — Goldsmith. 

\ Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor decay, 
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 
Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 
That leaves our useful product still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 
Around the world each needful product flies, 
For all the luxuries the world supplies. 
23* 



270 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, 

In barren splendor feebly waits the fall, 

As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 

Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 

Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 

Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 

But when those charms are passed, — for charms are frail, — 

When time advances, and when lovers fail, 

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 

In all the glaring impotence of dress. 

Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed, 

In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 

But verging to decline, its splendors rise, 

Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 

While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 

The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 

And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 

The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

The Eloquence of Demosthenes. — Brougham. 

1. Such was Demosthenes, the first of orators. At the head 
of all the mighty masters of speech, the adoration of ages has 
consecrated his place ; and the loss of the noble instrument with 
which he forged and launched his thunders, is sure to maintain it 
unapproachable forever. 

2. If, in such varied and perfect excellence, it is required that 
the most prominent shall be selected, then doubtless is the palm 
due to that entire and uninterrupted devotion which throws his 
whole soul into his subject, and will not ever — no, not for an 
instant — suffer a rival idea to cross its resistless course, without 
being swiftly swept away, and driven out of sight, as the most 
rapid engine annihilates or shoots off whatever approaches it, 
with a velocity that defies the eye. So, too, there is no coming 
back on the same ground, any more than any lingering over it. 

3. Why should he come back over a territory that he has 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 271 

already laid waste — where the consuming fire has not left a 
blade of grass ? All is done at once ; but the blow is as effectual 
as it is single, and leaves not any thing to do. There is nothing 
superfluous — nothing for mere speaking's sake — no topic that 
can be spared by the exigency of the business in hand ; so, too, 
there seems none that can be added, for every thing is there and 
in its place. 

4. So, in the diction, there is not a word that could be added 
without weakening, or taken away without marring, or altered 
without changing its nature and impairing the character of the 
whole exquisite texture, the work of a consummate art, that never 
for a moment appears, nor ever suffers the mind to wander from 
the subject and fix itself on the speaker. All is at each instant 
moving forward, regardless of every obstacle. 

5. The mighty flood of speech rolls on in a channel ever full, 
but which never overflows. Whether it rushes in a torrent of 
allusions, or moves along in a majestic exposition of enlarged 
principles, — descends hoarse and headlong in overwhelming 
invective, or glides melodious in narrative and description, or 
spreads itself out, shining in illustration, — its course is ever 
onward and ever entire — never scattered — never stagnant — 
never sluggish. At each point manifest progress has been made, 
and with all that art can do to charm, to strike, and to please. 

6. No sacrifice, even the smallest, is ever made to effect ; nor 
can the hearer ever stop, for an instant, to contemplate, or to 
admire, or throw away a thought upon the great artist, till all is 
over, and the pause gives time to recover his breath. This is the 
effect, and the proper effect, of eloquence — it is not the effect 
of argument. The two may be well combined, but they differ 
specially from each other. 

Eulogy on J. Q. Adams. — Everett. 

1. I may be permitted to recall to your recollection the open- 
ing of the twenty-sixth Congress, in December, 1839, when in con- 
sequence of a twofold delegation from New Jersey, the house was 



272 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

unable, for some time, to complete its organization, and presented 
to the country, and the world, the perilous and discreditable 
aspect of the assembled representatives of the people unable to 
form themselves into a constitutional body. 

2. Fully to enter into this scene, it must be remembered that 
there are no two ideas more deeply imbedded in the Anglo-Saxon 
mind than these — one, the omnipotence of every sovereign 
parliamentary and congressional body, (I mean, of course, within 
the limits of its constitutional competence,) and the other, the 
absolute inability of one of these omnipotent bodies to make the 
slightest movement, or perform the most indifferent act, except 
through a formal expression of its will by its duly appointed 
organs. 

3. Now, on first assembling, the house has no officers, and 
the clerk of the preceding Congress acts, by usage, as chairman 
of the body, till a speaker is chosen. On this occasion, after 
reaching the state of New Jersey, the acting clerk declined to 
proceed in calling the roll, and refused to entertain any of the 
motions which were made for the purpose of extricating the house 
from its embarrassment. Many of the ablest and most judicious 
members had addressed the house in vain ; there was nothing but 
confusion and disorder in prospect. 

4. Toward the close of the fourth day, Mr. Adams arose, and 
expectation waited on his words. Having, by a powerful appeal, 
brought the yet unorganized assembly to a perception of its haz- 
ardous position, he submitted a motion requiring the acting clerk 
to proceed in calling the roll. This and similar motions had 
already been made by other members. 

5. The difficulty was, the acting clerk declined to entertain 
them. Accordingly, Mr. Adams was immediately interrupted by 
a burst of voices — " How shall the question be put ? " " Who 
will put the question ? " The voice of Mr. Adams was heard 
above the tumult — " I intend to put the question myself! " That 
word brought order out of chaos. There was the master mind. 

6. A distinguished member from South Carolina moved that 
Mr. Adams himself should act as chairman of the body till the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 273 

house was organized, and, suiting the action to the word, himself 
put the motion to the house. It prevailed unanimously, and Mr. 
Adams was conducted to the chair amidst the irrepressible accla- 
mations of the spectators. 

7. Well did Mr. Wise, of Virginia, say, " Sir, I regard it as 
the proudest hour of your life ; and if, when you shall be gathered 
to your fathers, I were asked to select the words which, in my 
judgment, are best calculated to give at once the character of the 
man, I would inscribe upon your tomb this sentence — ' I will 
put the question myself.'' " 

From the Same. 

1. The death of such a man is no subject of vulgar sorrow. 
Domestic affliction itself bows with resignation at an event so 
mature in its season, so rich in its consolations, so raised into 
sublimity by the grandeur of the parting scene. Of all the great 
orators and statesmen in the world, Mr Adams alone has, I think, 
lived out the full term of a long life in actual service, and died on 
the field of duty, in the public eye, within the halls of public 
council. The great majority of public men, who most resemble 
him, drop away satisfied, perhaps disgusted, as years begin to 
wane ; many break down at the meridian ; in other times and 
other countries, not a few have laid their heads on the block. 

2. Demosthenes, at the age of sixty, swallowed poison, while 
the pursuer was knocking at the door of the temple in which he 
had taken refuge. Cicero, at the age of sixty-four, stretched out 
his neck from his litter to the hired assassin. Our illustrious fel- 
low-citizen, in the fulness of his years and of his honors, upon a 
day that was shaking, in Europe, the pillars of a monarchy to the 
dust, fell calmly at his post, amidst venerating associates, and 
breathed his last within the Capitol ; — 

3. " And, which is best and happiest yet, all this 
With God not parted from him, 
But favoring and assisting to the end. 
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail, 



274 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Or knock the breast ; no weakness, no contempt, 
Dispraise, or blame, — nothing but well and fair, 
And what may quiet us in a death so noble." 



Rest of Empire. — Mellen. 

Once more look out upon the slumbering world : 

It is a vision for no coming age ; 

The rainbow, pillowed on the distant clouds, 

Lives but its hour, and fades along the sky ; 

The sun of peace may sink, and night again 

Fall heavily upon the people ; now 

Brightens the vision of philanthropy ; 

The noblest charities are clustering round 

The altar of all Good, and forth, like stars, 

The high affections move in harmony ; 

For thee, for thee, my country, let there be 

No morrow to this day ; but let it last 

As long as lake and mountain, sky and sea — 

As long as virtue lingers on thy shores ! 

War has no fellowship with thee : thou art 

Upon that envied pinnacle of power, 

Whence thou canst gaze upon the elements, 

And hear the fearful rushing of the strife, 

Secure upon thy throne of adamant. 

Thou art upon that envied pinnacle, 

From which, to grapple with rude force, thy form 

Must bow itself, and shake its golden hair, 

And scatter all its laurels in the dust. 

Let others fight for pomps and triumphs still, — 

'Tis thine to guard the glory thou hast won ! 

War has no fellowship with thee : behold, 

God has put waters on the nations' way, 

And spoken in the voices of the waves — 

" Divide, and be at peace ! " — and before thee 

He rolls a wide, exhaustless ocean out, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 275 

That lifts its giant seas like barriers round, 

Proclaiming, in old Nature's eloquence, 

They are the guardians of our Eden land ! 

War has no fellowship with thee : thy boast 

Is not the pride of common victories ; 

Thine is the silent march of intellect, 

The conquest of intelligence ; for thee 

Hope weaves her fairest visions, and to thee 

Peace turns her glorious eye, and sings her choral song. 

Land of my heart ! my song shall end with thee. 

O, may the ship that bears thy fortunes, still 

Ride on the waves that gladden round her path, 

With the strong arm of concord at the helm, 

And fear no wreck by trusting over much 

To some o'er-glorious weather, when a change, 

An unseen change of pilots may drive on 

The dim, dark shore of discord and of death. 

Peace be within thy walls ! — thy destiny 

Points onward to a bright inheritance, 

And for futurity, like golden bands 

That stretch in light before a coming sun, 

Glows on the wide horizon of thy years, 

And kindles with new beams the sky of time. 

Peace be within thy walls — thy palaces 

Shall be like this, the temple where we stand ; 

Thy crown shall be thy virtue, and thy fame 

Shall be the tale which coming bards shall tell, 

When, bending o'er their loud, impassioned lyres, 

They wake their chords to liberty and thee ! 

When they shall hear the whispering ages say, 

Floating our morning benediction down 

In the low voice of echo to the world, 

Land of the favored free, " Peace be within thy walls ! " 



276 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Resistance of Government to Natural Rights impolitic. — 

Erskine. 

1. Gentlemen, what we read of in books makes but a faint 
impression upon us, compared to what we see passing under our 
eyes in the living world. I remember the people of another 
country, in like manner, contending for a renovation of their con- 
stitution, sometimes illegally and turbulently, but still devoted to 
an honest end. 

2. I myself saw the people of Brabant so contending for the 
ancient constitution of the good duke of Burgundy. How was this 
people dealt by ? All, who were only contending for their own 
rights and privileges, were supposed to be, of course, disaffected to 
the emperor : they were handed over to courts constituted for 
the emergency, as this is, and the emperor marched his army 
through the country till all was peace — but such peace as there 
is in Vesuvius or iEtna, the very moment before they vomit 
forth their lava, and roll their conflagrations over the devoted 
habitations of mankind : when the French approached, the 
fatal effects were suddenly seen of a government of constraint 
and terror ; the well-affected were dispirited, and the disaffected 
inflamed into fury. 

3. Gentlemen, I venture to affirm, that, with other councils, 
this fatal prelude to the last revolution in that country might have 
been averted : if the emperor had been advised to make the 
concessions of justice and affection to his people, they would have 
risen in a mass to maintain their prince's authority, interwoven 
with their own liberties ; and the French, the giants of modern 
times, would, like the giants of antiquity, have been trampled in 
the mire of their own ambition. In the same manner a far more 
splendid and important crown passed away from his majesty's 
illustrious brows — the imperial crown of America. 

4. The people of that country, too, for a long season contended 
as subjects, and often with irregularity and turbulence, for what 
they felt to be their rights; and O, gentlemen, that the inspiring 
and immortal eloquence of that man, whose name I have so often 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 277 

mentioned, had been heard with effect ! What was his language 
to this country when she sought to lay burdens on America ? — 
not to support the dignity of the crown, or for the increase of 
national revenue, but to raise a fund for the purpose of corrup- 
tion — a fund for maintaining those tribes of hireling skipjacks, 
which Mr. Tooke so well contrasted with the hereditary nobility 
of England! Though America would not bear this imposition, 
she would have borne any useful or constitutional burden to sup- 
port the parent state. 

5. " For that service, for all service," said Mr. Burke, " whether 
of revenue, trade, or empire, my trust is in her interest in the 
British constitution. My hold of the colonies is in the close affec- 
tion which grows from common names, from kindred blood, from 
similar privileges, and equal protection. These are ties which, 
though light as air, are as strong as links of iron. 

6. " Let the colonies always keep the idea of their civil rights 
associated with your government, — they will cling and grapple to 
you, and no force under heaven will be of power to tear them 
from their allegiance." 

Gratitude due to the Pilgrim Fathers. — Everett. 

1. If we turn our thoughts to the grand design with which 
America was colonized, and the success with which, under Prov- 
idence, that design has been crowned, I own I find it difficult to 
express myself in terms of moderation. When I compare our 
New England, at the present day, with the New England of our 
fathers, a century and a half ago ; the New England on which 
this morning's sun rose, with that of the day we commemorate ; 
when I consider this abundance and prosperity, — these fertile 
fields, these villages, crowded with a population instinct with 
activity, hope, and enjoyment ; when I look at the hills cultivated, 
or covered with flocks, to their summits, and only so much of the 
forest remaining as ministers to the convenience and use of man ; 
when I see the roads, the bridges, the canals, the railways, which 
spread their busy net-work over the face of the country, quicken- 
24 



278 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

ing into intensity the exchanges of business, and the intercourse 
of men ; when I see the intellectual, moral, and religious growth 
of the community, its establishments, its institutions, its social 
action, and reflect that all this life, enjoyment, and plenty are 
placed under the invisible protection of the public peace ; when I 
consider, further, that what we see, and hear, and feel, and touch, 
of all these blessings, is perhaps the smallest part of them ; that, 
by the force of our example, by the blessed sympathy of light 
and truth, the glad tidings of political, of moral, and religious 
revival are destined to spread to distant regions, and flow down to 
the remotest generations, out of the living fountain which has 
been opened here ; — my heart melts within me for grief, that 
they, the high-souled and long-suffering fathers, — they, the 
pioneers of the mighty enterprise, — they, the founders of the 
glorious temple, must die before the sight of all these blessings. 

2. O that we could call them back, to see the work of their 
hands ! O that our poor strains of gratitude could penetrate their 
tombs ! O that we could quicken into renewed consciousness 
the brave and precious dust that moulders beneath our feet ! O 
that they could rise up in the midst of us, the hopeful, the valiant, 
the self-devoted, and graciously accept these humble offices of 
commemoration ! But though they tasted not the fruit, they shall 
not lose the praise of their sacrifice and toils. 

3. Ages shall pass away ; the majestic tree which overshadows 
us shall wither and sink before the blast, and we, who are now 
gathered beneath it, shall mingle with the honored dust we eulo- 
gize ; but the " Flower of Essex" shall bloom in undying remem- 
brance ; and with every century, these rites of commemoration 
shall be repeated, as the lapse of time shall continually develop, 
in richer abundance, the fruits of what was done and suffered by 
our fathers ! 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 279 

The Curse of a Bad Government. — Burke. 

1. Gentlemen, bad laws are the worst kind of tyranny. In 
such a country as this, they are of all bad things the worst, — worse 
by far than any where else ; and they derive a particular malignity 
even from the wisdom and soundness of the rest of our institu- 
tions. For very obvious reasons, you cannot trust the crown with 
a dispensing power over any of your laws. However, a govern- 
ment, be it as bad as it may, will, in the exercise of a discretion- 
ary power, discriminate times and persons, and will not ordina- 
rily pursue any man, when its own safety is not concerned. 

2. A mercenary informer knows no distinction. Under such a 
system, the obnoxious people are slaves not only to the govern- 
ment, but they live at the mercy of every individual ; they are at 
once the slaves of the whole community and of every part of it ; 
and the worst and most unmerciful men are those on whose good- 
ness they most depend. 

3. In this situation, men not only shrink from the frowns of a 
stern magistrate, but they are obliged to fly from their very 
species. The seeds of destruction are sown in civil intercourse, 
in social habitudes. The blood of wholesome kindred is infected. 
Their tables and beds are surrounded with snares. All the means 
given by Providence to make life safe and comfortable, are per- 
verted into instruments of terror and torment. 

4. This species of universal subserviency, that makes the very 
servant, who waits behind your chair, the arbiter of your life and 
fortune, has such a tendency to degrade and abuse mankind, and 
to deprive them of that assured and liberal state of mind, which 
alone can make us what we ought to be, that I solemnly declare, I 
would sooner bring myself to put a man to immediate death for 
opinions I disliked, and so get rid of the man and his opinions at 
once, than to fret him with a feverish being, tainted with the jail 
distemper of a contagious servitude — to keep him above ground, 
an animated mass of putrefaction, corrupted himself, and corrupt- 
ing all about him. 



280 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

The Death of Marmion. — Scott. 

Straight up the hill there rode 
Two horsemen, drenched with gore, 
And in their arms a helpless load, 
A Wounded knight, they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken brand ; 
His arms were smeared with blood and sand. 
Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted shield, and hemlet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone, — 
Can that be. haughty Marmion ? 
Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face, 
Said, " By Saint George, he's gone ! 
The spear-wound has our master sped ; 
And see the deep cut on his head ; 
Good night to Marmion." 
" Unnurtured Blount, thy brawling cease : 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace, " peace ! " 
When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare ; — 
" Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? 
Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! — 
Yet my last thought is England's. Fly 
To Dacre, bear my signet-ring ; 
" Tell him his squadrons up to bring. 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie : 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field ; 
His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 
Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; — 
The admiral alone is left. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, — 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 281 

Full upon Scotland's central host, 
Or victory and England's lost. 
Must I bid twice ? Hence, varlets ! fly ! 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
They parted, and alone he lay ; 
Clare drew her from the sight away, 
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 
And half he murmured, — " Is there none, 
Of all my halls have nursed, 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from the spring, 
To slake my dying thirst! " — 
O woman ! in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
And variable as the shade 
By the light, quivering aspen made, — 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
When, with the baron's casque, the maid 
To the nigh streamlet ran ; 
Forgot her hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears, 
Sees but the dying man. 
She filled the helm, and back she hied, 
And with surprise and joy espied 
A monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought, 
To shrive the dying, bless the dead. 
Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, 
And, as he stooped his brow to lave, — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
" Or injured Constance, bathes my head ? " 
Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 
24* 



282 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

I must redress her woes. 

Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 

Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! " 

" Alas ! " she said, " the while, 

think of your immortal weal ! 

In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She died at Holy Isle." 

Lord Marmion started from the ground, 

As light as if he felt no wound ; 

Though in the action burst the tide 

In torrents from his wounded side. 

" Then it was truth ! " he said ; " I knew 

That the dark presage must be true. — 

1 would the fiend, to whom belongs 
The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 
Would spare me but a day ! 

For wasting fire, and dying groan, 

And priest slain on the altar-stone, 

Might bribe him for delay ! 

It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 

Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 

And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 

A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 

Then, fainting, down on the earth he sunk, 

Supported by the trembling monk. 

The wars that for a space did fail, 

Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 

And, " Stanley ! " was the cry ; — 

A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 

With dying hand, above his head 

He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted, " Victory ! — 

Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " 

Were the last words of Marmion. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 283 

The Silent Power of Moral Causes. — Everett. 

1. Let him who is inclined to distrust the efficiency of the 
social and moral causes which are quietly at work for the improve- 
ment of the nations, reflect on the phenomena of the natural 
world. Whence come the waters, which swell the vast current 
of the great rivers, and fill up the gulfs of the bottomless deep ? 
Have they not all gone up to the clouds, in a most thin and 
unseen vapor, from the wide surface of land and sea ? 

2. Have not these future billows, on which navies are soon to 
be tossed, in which the great monsters of the deep will disport 
themselves, been borne aloft on the bosom of a fleecy cloud,- — 
chased by a breeze, — with scarce enough of substance to catch 
the hues of a sunbeam ; — and have they not descended, some- 
times, indeed, in drenching rain, but far more diffusively in 
dewdrops, and gentle showers, and feathery snows, over the 
expanse of a continent, and been gathered successively into the 
slender rill, the brook, the placid stream, till they grew, at last, 
into the mighty river, pouring down its tributary floods into the 
unfathomed ocean ? 

3. Yes ! let him who wishes to understand the power of the 
principles at work for the improvement of our race, — if he cannot 
comprehend their vigor in the schools of learning, — if he cannot 
see the promise of their efficiency in the very character of the 
human mind, — if, in the page of history, sacred and profane, 
checkered with vicissitude as it is, he cannot, nevertheless, 
behold the clear indications of a progressive nature, let him 
accompany the missionary bark to the Sandwich Islands. 

4. He will there behold a people sunk, till within fifteen years, 
in the depths of savage and heathen barbarity, indebted to the 
intercourse of the civilized world for nothing but wasting disease 
and degrading vices, placed by Providence in a garden of fer- 
tility and plenty, but, by revolting systems of tyranny and super- 
stition, kept in a state of want, corruption, war, and misery. 

5. The Christian benevolence of a private American associa- 
tion casts its eyes upon them. Three or four individuals, without 



284 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

power, without arms, without funds, except such as the frugal 
resources of private benevolence could furnish them, — strong 
only in pious resolutions and the strength of a righteous cause, — 
land on these remote islands, and commence the task of a moral 
and spiritual reform. 

6. If ever there was a chimerical project in the eyes of worldly 
wisdom, this was one. If this enterprise is feasible, tell me what 
is not ! Within less than half the time usually assigned to a gen- 
eration of men, sixty thousand of individuals, in a population of 
one hundred and fifty thousand, have been taught the elements of 
human learning. 

7. Whole tribes of savages have demolished their idols, aban- 
doned their ancient cruel superstitions and barbarous laws, and 
adopted some of the best institutions of civilization and Christian- 
ity. It would, I think, be difficult to find, in the pages of history, 
the record of a moral improvement, of equal extent, effected in a 
space of time so inconsiderable, and furnishing so striking an 
exemplification of the power of the means at work, at the present 
day, for the education and improvement of man. 

Conquest of Canada. — Randolph. 

1. I cannot refrain from smiling at the liberality of the gentle- 
man in giving Canada to New York, in order to strengthen the 
northern balance of power ; while, at the same time, he fore- 
warns her that the western scale must preponderate. I can 
almost fancy that I see the Capitol in motion towards the falls of 
the Ohio ; after a short sojourn, taking its flight to the Mississippi, 
and finally alighting on Darien ; which, when the gentleman's 
dreams are realized, will be a most eligible seat of government 
for the new republic (or empire) of the two Americas ! 

2. But it seems, that " in 1808 we talked and acted foolishly ;" 
and, to give some color of consistency to that folly, we must now 
commit a greater. Really I cannot conceive of a weaker reason, 
offered in support of a present measure, than the justification of a 
former folly. I hope we shall act a wise part, take warning by 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 285 

our follies, since we have become sensible of them, and resolve to 
talk and act foolishly no more. It is, indeed, high time to give 
over such preposterous language and proceedings. 

3. This war of conquest, a war for the acquisition of territory 
and subjects, is to be a new commentary on the doctrine that repub- 
licans are destitute of ambition ; that they are addicted to peace, 
wedded to the happiness and safety of the great body of their 
people. But, it seems, this is to be a holiday campaign : there is 
to be no expense of blood, or treasure, on our part ; Canada is to 
conquer herself; she is to be subdued by the principles of fra- 
ternity ! The people of that country are first to be seduced from 
their allegiance, and converted into traitors, as preparatory to 
making them good citizens ! Although I must acknowledge that 
some of our flaming patriots were thus manufactured, I do not 
think the process would hold good with a whole community. 

4. It is a dangerous experiment. We are to succeed in the 
French mode, by the system of fraternization — all is French! 
But how dreadfully it might be retorted on the southern and west- 
ern slaveholding states ! I detest this subornation of treason. 
No ; it* we must have them, let them fall by the valor of our 
arms ; by fair, legitimate conquest ; not become the victims of 
treacherous seduction. 

Human Frailty. — H. K. White. 

Where are the heroes of the ages past ? 
Where the brave chieftains, where the mighty ones 
Who flourished in the infancy of days ? 
All to the grave gone down. On their fallen fame 
Exultant, mocking at the pride of man, 
Sits grim For getf illness. The warrior's arm 
Lies nerveless on the pillow of its shame ; 
Hushed is his stormy voice, and quenched the blaze 
Of his red eyeball. Yesterday his name 
Was mighty on the earth ; to-day, 'tis what ? 
The meteor of the night of distant years, 



286 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

That flashed unnoticed save by wrinkled Eld, 
Musing at midnight upon prophecies, 
Who at her lonely lattice saw the gleam 
Point to the mist-poised shroud, then quietly 
Closed her pale lips, and locked the secret up 
Safe in the charnePs treasures. 

O, how weak 
Is mortal man ! how trifling ! how confined 
His scope of vision ! Puffed with confidence, 
His phrase grows big with immortality, 
And he — poor insect of a summer's day — 
Dreams of eternal honors to his name, 
Of endless glory and perennial bays. 
He idly reasons of eternity 
As of the train of ages, — when, alas ! 
Ten thousand thousand of his centuries 
Are, in comparison, a little point, 
Too trivial for account. O, it is strange, 
'Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies. 
Behold him proudly view some pompous pile, 
Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, 
And smile, and say, " My name shall live with this 
Till time shall be no more ; " while at his feet, 
Yea, at his very feet, the crumbling dust 
Of the fallen fabric of the other day 
Preaches the solemn lesson. — He should know 
That time must conquer ; that the loudest blast, 
That ever filled Renown's obstreperous trump, 
Fades in the lapse of ages, and expires. 
Who lies inhumed in the terrific gloom 
Of the gigantic pyramid ? or who 
Reared its huge walls ? Oblivion laughs, and says, 
The prey is mine. They sleep, and never more 
Their names shall strike upon the ear of man ; 
Their memory bursts its fetters. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 287 

The Happiness and Dignity of the Unaspiring Citizen. 
Professor Haddock. 

1. There is a simple dignity, above all accidental distinctions, 
in him who neither seeks office as an honor, nor shuns it as a 
duty. The condition is enviable, which titles cannot dignify nor 
applause make happier. If this condition is ever realized, it must 
be in the American citizen, — the sensible, reasonable, inde- 
pendent farmer, mechanic, or gentleman. 

2. Whether he breathe our wholesome mountain airs, or prefer 
the stir and fever of the city, he is the last man in the world to be 
haunted and tortured with the lust of office. He whose heart, 
unquiet and dissatisfied, is yearning for something in the power 
of the people to bestow, is equally ignorant of his blessings and 
his dangers. Happy the man, who, with talents that cannot be 
obscured, yet courts retirement, and, conscious of virtues, yet 
covets neither station nor distinction ; who quietly enjoys immu- 
nities for which he invokes no power but Heaven, and patiently 
and cheerfully fills a private station. 

3. And happy will it be for the country, if no false notion of 
respectability, no foolish pride, no chimerical ideas of enjoyment, 
induce a more general discontent with the rewards of ordinary 
life. A dreamy impatience for promotion, restlessness amidst 
fountains of plenty, betray feelings incapable of being satisfied in 
any state, and with any measure of good. A nation of office- 
seekers can hardly be a nation of honest men ; certainly not a 
quiet or a happy nation. 

Character of Rousseau. — Carlyle. 

1. Of Rousseau and his heroism I cannot say so much. He is 
not what I call a strong man. A morbid, excitable, spasmodic 
man ; at best, intense rather than strong. He had not " the 
talent of silence," an invaluable talent ; which few Frenchmen, 
or indeed men of any sort in these times, excel in ! The suffering 
man ought really " to consume his own smoke ; " there is no 



288 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

good in emitting smoke till you have made it into fire, — which, 
in the metaphorical sense too, all smoke is capable of becoming ! 

2. Rousseau has not depth or width, not calm force for diffi- 
culty ; the first characteristic of true greatness. A fundamental 
mistake to call vehemence and rigidity strength ! A man is not 
strong who takes convulsion-fits ; though six men cannot hold 
him then. He that can walk under the heaviest weight without 
staggering, he is the strong man. We need, forever, especially in 
these loud-shrieking days, to remind ourselves of that. A man 
who cannot hold his peace, till the time come for speaking and 
acting, is no right man. 

3. Poor Rousseau's face is, to me, expressive of him. A high, 
but narrow, contracted intensity in it ; bony brows ; deep, straight- 
set eyes, in which there is something bewildered-looking, — 
bewildered, peering with lynx eagerness. A face full of misery, 
even ignoble misery, and also of the antagonism against that ; 
something mean, plebeian there, redeemed only by intensity : 
the face of what is called a fanatic, — a sadly contracted hero ! 

4. We name him here, because, with all his drawbacks, — and 
they are many, — he has the first and chief characteristic of a hero : 
he is heartily in earnest ; in earnest, if ever man was ; as none 
of these French philosophers were. Nay, one would say, of an 
earnestness too great for his otherwise sensitive, rather feeble 
nature ; and which indeed in the end drove him into the strangest 
incoherences, almost deli rations. There had come, at last, to 
be a kind of madness in him : his ideas possessed him like 
demons ; hurried him so about, drove him over steep places ! 

5. Of Rousseau's literary talents, greatly celebrated, still, 
among his countrymen, I do not say much.^ His books, like 
himself, are what I call unhealthy ; not the good sort of books. 
There is a sensuality in Rousseau. Combined with such an intel- 
lectual gift as his, it makes pictures of a certain gorgeous attrac- 
tiveness ; but they are not genuinely poetical. Not white sun- 
light ; something operatic ; a kind of rose pink, artificial bedizen- 
ment. It is frequent, or rather universal, among the French, since 
his time. Madame de Stael has something of it ; St. Pierre ; and 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 289 

down onwards to the present astonishing convulsionary " litera- 
ture of desperation," it is every where abundant. 

6. That same rose pink is not the right hue. Look at Shaks- 
peare, at a Goetfie, even at a Walter Scott ! He who has once 
seen into this, has seen the difference of the true from the sham- 
true, and will discriminate them ever afterwards. 

From a Speech on the Occasion of receiving a Message of the 
President, vetoing the Bill for the Establishment of a New 
Bank. — Clay. 

1. On a former occasion I stated, that in the event of an un- 
fortunate difference of opinion between the legislative and execu- 
tive departments, the point of difference might be developed, and 
it would be then seen whether they could be brought to coincide 
in any measure corresponding with the public hopes and expecta- 
tions. I regret that the president has not, in this message, favored 
us with a more clear and explicit exhibition of his views. It is 
sufficiently manifest that he is decidedly opposed to the establish- 
ment of a new Bank of the United States, formed after the two old 
models. I think it is fairly to be inferred, that the plan of the 
secretary of the treasury could not have received his sanction. 

2. And I understand that some of our friends are now con- 
sidering the practicability of arranging and passing a bill in con- 
formity with the views of the president. Whilst I regret that I 
can take no active part in such an experiment, and must reserve 
to myself the right of determining, whether I can or cannot vote 
for such a bill after I see it in its matured form, I assure my 
friends that they shall find no obstacle or impediment in me. On 
the contrary, I say to them, Go on : God speed you in any measure 
which will serve the country, and preserve or restore harmony 
and concert between the departments of government. An execu- 
tive veto of a Bank of the United States is an event which was 
not anticipated by the political friends of the president ; certainly 
not by me. But it has come upon us with tremendous weight, 

25 



290 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

and amidst the greatest excitement within and without the me- 
tropolis. 

3. The question now is, What shall be done ? What, under this 
most embarrassing and unexpected state of things, will our constit- 
uents expect of us ? What is required by the duty and dignity of 
congress ? I repeat, that if, after a careful examination of the 
executive message, a bank can be devised which will afford any 
remedy to existing evils, and secure the president's approbation, 
let the project of such a bank be presented. It shall encounter no 
opposition, if it should receive no support, from me. But what 
further shall we do ? 

4. Never, since I have enjoyed the honor of participating in 
the public councils of the nation, — a period of now nearly thirty- 
five years, — have I met congress under more happy or more fa- 
vorable auspices. Never have I seen a house of representatives 
animated by more patriotic dispositions, more united, more de- 
termined, more business-like. Not even that house which 
declared war in 1812, nor that which, in 1815-16, laid broad 
and deep foundations of national prosperity, in adequate provis- 
ions for the payment of the national debt, and for the protection 
of American industry. 

5. This house has solved the problem of the competency of a 
large deliberative body to transact the public business. If happily 
there had existed a concurrence of opinion and cordial coopera- 
tion between the different departments of government and all the 
members of the party, we should have carried every measure 
contemplated at the extra session, which the people had a right 
to expect from our pledges, and should have been, by this time, 
at our respective homes. 

6. We are disappointed in one, and an important one, of that 
series of measures ; but shall we therefore despair ? Shall we 
abandon ourselves to unworthy feelings and sentiments ? Shall 
we allow ourselves to be transported by rash and intemperate 
passions and counsels ? Shall we adjourn, and go home in dis- 
gust ? No ! No ! No ! A higher, nobler, and more patriotic 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES 291 

career lies before us. Let us here, at the east end of Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue, do our duty, our whole duty, and nothing short of 
our whole duty, towards our common country. 

Duelling. — Beecher. 

1. And now let me ask you solemnly, Will you persist in your 
attachment to these guilty men ? Will you any longer, either 
deliberately or thoughtlessly, vote for them ? Will you renounce 
allegiance to your Maker, and cast the Bible behind your back ? 
Will you confide in men void of the fear of God and destitute of 
moral principle ? Will you intrust life to murderers — liberty to 
despots ? Are you patriots, and will you constitute those legisla- 
tors who despise you, and despise equal laws, and wage war with 
the eternal principles of justice? 

2. Are you Christians, and by upholding duellists will you 
deluge the land with blood, and fill it with widows and orphans ? 
Will you aid in the prostration of justice — in the escape of crim- 
inals — in the extinction of liberty ? Will you place in the chair 
of state, in the senate, on the bench of justice, or in the assem- 
bly, men, who, if able, would murder you for speaking truth ? 
Shall your elections turn on expert shooting, and your deliberative 
bodies become a host of armed men ? Will you destroy public 
morality by tolerating, yea, rewarding the most infamous crimes ? 
Will you teach your children that there is no guilt in murder ? 
Will you instruct them to think lightly of duelling, and train 
them up to destroy or to be destroyed in the bloody field ? Will 
you bestow your suffrage, when you know that by withholding it 
you may arrest this deadly evil ? — when this, too, is the only way 
in which it can be done, and when the present is perhaps the 
only period in which resistance can avail — when the remedy is 
so easy, so entirely in your power — and when God, if you do 
not punish these guilty men, will most inevitably punish you ? 

3. If the widows and the orphans, which this wasting evil has 
created and is yearly multiplying, might all stand before you, 
could you witness "their tears — listen to their details of anguish ? 



292 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Should they point to the murderers of their fathers, their hus- 
bands, and their children, and lift up their voice and implore your 
aid to arrest an evil which has made them desolate, could you 
disregard their cry ? Before their eyes, could you approach the 
poll, and patronize by your vote the destroyers of their peace ? 
Had you beheld a dying father conveyed bleeding and agonizing 
to his distracted family — had you heard their piercing shrieks and 
witnessed their frantic agony — would you reward the savage 
man who had plunged them in distress ? Had the duellist de- 
stroyed your neighbor — had your own father been killed by the 
man who solicits your suffrage — had your son been brought to 
your door, pale in death, and weltering in blood, laid low by his 
hand — would you then think the crime a small one ? Would 
you honor with your confidence, and elevate to power by your 
vote, the guilty monster ? And what would you think of your 
neighbors, if, regardless of your agony, they should reward him ? 
And yet such scenes of unutterable anguish are multiplied every 
year. 

4. Every year the duellist is cutting down the neighbor of 
somebody. Every year, and many times in the year, a father is 
brought dead or dying to his family, or a son laid breathless at 
the feet of his parents. And every year you are patronizing by 
your votes the men who commit these crimes, and looking with 
cold indifference upon, and even mocking, the sorrows of your 
neighbor. Beware — I admonish you solemnly to beware ; and 
especially such of you as have promising sons preparing for active 
life, lest, having no feeling for the sorrows of another, you be 
called to weep for your own sorrow ; lest your sons fall by the 
hand of the very murderer you vote for, or by the hand of some 
one whom his example has trained to the work of blood. 

5. With such considerations before you, why, in the name of 
Heaven, do you wish to vote for such men ? What have they 
done for you, what can they do, that better men cannot as hap- 
pily accomplish ? And will you incur all this guilt, and hazard 
all these consequences, for nothing ? Have you no religion, no 
conscience, no love to your country ? no attachment to liberty, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 293 

no humanity, no sympathy, no regard to your own welfare in 
this life, and no fear of consequences in the life to come ? O 
my countrymen, awake ! Awake to crimes which are your dis- 
grace — to miseries which know not a limit — to judgments which 
will make you desolate. 

Character of the Puritans. — Macaulay. 

1. The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar 
character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and 
eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general 
terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every 
event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing 
was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute. To 
know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great 
end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious 
homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the 
soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through 
an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable 
brightness, and to commune with him face to face. 

2. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. 
The difference between the greatest and meanest of mankind 
seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval 
which separated the whole race from Him on whom their own eyes 
were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superiority 
but his favor; and, confident of that favor, they despised all the 
accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If they were 
unacquainted with the works of philosophers and poets, they were 
deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not 
found in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they 
were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not 
accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of minister- 
ing angels had charge over them. Their palaces were houses not 
made with hands ; their diadems, crowns of glory which should 
never fade away ! 

3. On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they 

25* 



294 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

looked down with contempt ; for they esteemed themselves rich 
in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime lan- 
guage, nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by 
the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them 
was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance 
belonged ; on whose slightest action the spirits of light and dark- 
ness looked with anxious interest ; who had been destined, before 
heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which should 
continue when heaven and earth should have passed away. 

4. Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly 
causes, had been ordained on his account. For his sake empires 
had risen, and flourished, and decayed. For his sake the Al- 
mighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelists and 
the harp of the prophet. He had been rescued by no common 
deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ran- 
somed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no 
earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been darkened, 
that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that ail 
nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring God ! 

5. The Puritans brought to civil and military affairs a coolness 
of judgment and an immutability of purpose which some writers 
have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were 
in fact the necessary effects of it. The intensity of their feel- 
ings on one subject made them tranquil on every other. One 
overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, 
ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors, and pleasure its 
charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures 
and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthu- 
siasm had made them stoics, had cleared their minds from every 
vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised them above the influence 
of danger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead them to 
pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. 

6. They went through the world like St. Artegales's iron man 
Talus with his flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, 
mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in 
human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain ; 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 295 

not to be pierced by any weapon, not to be withstood by any 
barrier. 

7. Such we believe to have been the character of the Puritans. 
We perceive the absurdity of their manners ; we dislike the 
gloom of their domestic habits ; we acknowledge that the tone 
of their minds was often injured by straining after things too high 
for mortal reach ; and we know that, in spite of their hatred of 
Popery, they too often fell into the vices of that bad system, intol- 
erance and extravagant austerity. Yet, when all circumstances 
are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pronounce them 
a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body. 

Death of Hamilton. — Nott. 

1. A short time since, and he who is the occasion of our sor- 
rows was the ornament of his country. He stood on an emi- 
nence, and glory covered him. From that eminence he has 
fallen — suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse with the 
living world is now ended ; and those who would hereafter find 
him must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless is the 
heart which just now was the seat of friendship. There, dim and 
sightless is the eye Whose radiant and enlivening orb beamed 
with intelligence ; and there, closed forever are those lips on 
whose persuasive accents we have so often and so lately hung 
with transport. 

2. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb there pro- 
ceeds, methinks, a light in which it is clearly seen that those 
gaudy objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light 
how dimly shines the splendor of victory — how humble appears 
the majesty of grandeur ! The bubble which seemed to have so 
much solidity has burst ; and we again see that all below the sun 
is vanity. 

3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced. The sad 
and solemn procession has moved. The badge of mourning has 
already been decreed, and presently the sculptured marble will 



296 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of Hamilton, and 
rehearse to the passing traveller his virtues. 

4. Just tributes of respect ! and to the living useful. But to 
him, mouldering in his narrow and humble habitation, what are 
they ? How vain ! how unavailing ! Approach and behold, 
while I lift from his sepulchre its covering. Ye admirers of his 
greatness, ye emulous of his talents and his fame, approach, and 
behold him now. How pale ! how silent ! No martial bands 
admire the adroitness of his movements. No fascinated throng 
weep — and melt — and tremble at his eloquence. Amazing 
change ! A shroud ! a coffin ! a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! 
This is all that now remains of Hamilton ! And is this all that 
remains of him ? During a life so transitory, what lasting monu- 
ment, then, can our fondest hopes erect ? 

5. My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulf, 
which is swallowing up all things human. And is there, amidst 
this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding, nothing 
immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten ? 

6. Ask the hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have 
been accustomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell 
you, did I say ? He has already told you from his deathbed, and 
his illumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, with well- 
known eloquence, the solemn admonition — 

7. " Mortals ! hastening to the tomb, and once the companions 
of my pilgrimage, take warning, and avoid my errors. Cultivate 
the virtues I have recommended — choose the Savior I have 
chosen — live disinterestedly — live for immortality ; and would 
you rescue any thing from final dissolution, lay it up in God." 

Thunder- Storm. — Irving. 

1. They came to the highlands. It was the latter part of a 
calm, sultry day, that they floated gently with the tide between 
these stern mountains. There was that perfect quiet which pre- 
vails over nature in the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 297 

plank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed from 
the mountain side, and reverberated along the shores ; and. if by- 
chance the captain gave a shout of command, there were airy 
tongues that mocked it from every cliff. 

2. I gazed about me in mute delight and wonder at these scenes 
of nature's magnificence. To the left, the Dunderberg reared its 
woody precipices, height over height, forest over forest, away into 
the deep summer sky. To the right strutted forth the bold prom- 
ontory of Antony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ; 
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed 
to lock their arms together, and confine this mighty river in their 
embraces. There was a feeling of quiet luxury in gazing at the 
broad, green bosoms here and there scooped out among the preci- 
pices ; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some 
beetling bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the yellow 
sunshine. 

3. In the midst of my admiration, I remarked a pile of bright, 
snowy clouds peering above the western heights. It was suc- 
ceeded by another and another, each seemingly pushing onwards 
its predecessor, and towering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the 
deep blue atmosphere ; and now muttering peals of thunder were 
faintly heard rolling behind the mountains. The river, hitherto 
still and glassy, reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now 
showed a dark ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping 
up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their 
nests on the high, dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously to the 
crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of the 
approaching thunder-gust. 

4. The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain tops ; 
their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower parts of an 
inky blackness. The rain began to patter down in broad and 
scattered drops ; the wind freshened, and curled up the waves : 
at length it seemed as if the bellying clouds were torn open by 
the mountain tops, and complete torrents of rain came rattling 
down. The lightning leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed 
quivering against the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest 



298 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

forest-trees. The thunder burst in tremendous explosions; the 
peals were echoed from mountain to mountain ; they crashed 
upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long defile of the highlands, 
each headland making a new echo, until old Bull Hill seemed to 
bellow back the storm. 

5. For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted 
rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was a fear- 
ful gloom, illumined still more fearfully by the streams of light- 
ning which glittered among the rain-drops. Never had I beheld 
such an absolute warring of the elements ; it seemed as if the 
storm was tearing and rending its way through this mountain 
defile, and had brought all the artillery of heaven into action. 

Overthrow of the Apostate Angels. — Milton. 

So spake the Son, and into terror changed 
His countenance, too severe to be beheld, 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
At once the Four spread out their starry wings, 
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs 
Of his fierce chariot rolled as with the sound 
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 
He on his impious foes right onward drove, 
Gloomy as night ; under his burning wheels 
The steadfast empyrean shook throughout, « 
All but the'throne itself of God. Full soon 
Among them he arrived, in his right hand 
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
Before him, such as in their souls infixed 
Plagues ; they, astonished, all resistance lost, 
All courage ; down their idle weapons dropped. 
O'er, shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode, 
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate, 
That wished the mountains now might be again 
. Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. 
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 299 

His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four 
Distinct with eyes ; and from the living wheels 
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ; 
One spirit in them ruled, and every eye 
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
Among th' accursed, that withered all their strength, 
And of their wonted vigor left them drained, 
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen. 
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked 
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of heaven : 
The overthrown he raised, and, as a herd 
Of goats or timorous flock together thronged, 
Drove them before him thunder-struck, pursued 
With terrors, and with furies, to the bounds 
And crystal wall of heaven, which, opening wide, 
Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed 
Into the wasteful deep ; the monstrous sight 
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse 
Urged them behind; headlong themselves they threw 
Down from the verge of heaven ; eternal wrath 
Burned after them to the bottomless pit. 

Hell heard the unsufferable noise, hell saw 
Heaven ruining from heaven, and would have fled 
Affrighted ; but strict Fate had cast too deep 
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 
Nine days they fell ; confounded Chaos roared, 
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall 
Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout 
Encumbered him with ruin :, hell at last, 
Yawning, received them whole, and on them closed ; 
Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire 
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. 
Disburdened heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired 
Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled. 

Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes, 



300 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Messiah his triumphal chariot turned ; 
To meet him all his saints, who silent stood 
Eye-witnesses of his almighty acts, 
With jubilee advanced ; and, as they went, 
Shaded with branching palm, each order, bright, 
Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, 
Son, Heir, and Lord ! to him dominion given, 
Worthiest to reign : he, celebrated, rode 
Triumphant through mid heaven, into the courts 
And temple of his mighty Father, throned 
On high ; who into glory him received, 
Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. 

The true Picture of Man. — Young. 

A part how small of the terraqueous globe 
Is tenanted by man ! the rest a waste, 
Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands ; 
Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and death. 
Such is earth's melancholy map ! but, far 
More sad ! this earth is a true map of man. 
So bounded are its haughty lord's delights 
To woe's wide empire ; where deep troubles toss, 
Loud sorrows howl, envenomed passions bite, 
Ravenous calamities our vitals seize, 
And threatening fate wide opens to devour. 

What then am I, who sorrow for myself ? 
In age, in infancy, from others' aid 
Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind, 
That nature's first, last lesson to mankind. 
The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels : 
More generous sorrow, while it sinks, exalts ; 
And conscious virtue mitigates the pang. 
Nor virtue, more than prudence, bids me give 
Swollen thought a second channel : who divide, 
They weaken too, the torrent of their grief. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 301 

Take then, O world ! thy much indebted tear : 

How sad a sight is human happiness, 

To those whose thought can pierce beyond an hour ! 

thou, whate'er thou art, whose heart exults, 
Wouldst thou I should congratulate thy fate ? 

1 know thou wouldst ; thy pride demands it from me. 
Let thy pride pardon, what thy nature needs, 

The salutary censure of a friend. 

Thou happy wretch ! by blindness thou art blest ; 

By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles. 

Know, smiler ! at thy peril art thou pleased ; 

Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain. 

Misfortune, like a creditor severe, 

But rises in demand for her delay ; 

She makes a scourge of past prosperity, 

To sting thee more, and double thy distress. 

Lorenzo, Fortune makes her court to thee : 
Thy fond heart dances, while the siren sings. 
Dear is thy welfare ; think me not unkind ; 
I would not damp, but to secure, thy joys. 
Think not that fear is sacred to the storm : 
Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate. 
Is heaven tremendous in its frowns ? Most sure ; 
And in its favors formidable too : 
Its favors here are trials, not rewards ; 
A call to duty, not discharge from care ; 
And should alarm us, full as much as woes. 
Awake us to their cause, and consequence ; 
O'er our scanned conduct give a jealous eye, 
And make us tremble, weighed with our desert ; 
Awe Nature's tumult, and chastise her joys, 
Lest, while we clasp, we kill them ; nay, invert 
To worse than simple misery their charms. 
Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, 
Like bosom friendships to resentment soured, 
With rage envenomed rise against our peace. 
26 



302 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Beware what earth calls happiness : beware 
All joys, but joys that never can expire. 
Who builds on less than an immortal base, 
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death. 
Mine died with thee, Philander ! thy last sigh 
Dissolved the charm : the disenchanted earth 
Lost all her lustre. Where her glittering towers ? 
Her golden mountains, where ? All darkened down 
To naked waste ; a dreary vale of tears ; 
The great magician 's dead ! Thou poor, pale piece 
Of outcast earth in darkness ! what a change 
From yesterday ! Thy darling hope so near, 
(Long-labored prize !) O, how ambition flushed 
Thy glowing cheek ! ambition truly great, 
Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within, 
(Sly, treacherous miner !) working in the dark, 
Smiled at thy well-concerted scheme, and beckoned 
The worm to riot on that rose so red, 
Unfaded ere it fell : one moment's prey ! 

RienzVs Address to the Romans. — Mitford. 

I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave, not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror led 
To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ! lords 
Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 
Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 
In that strange spell — a name. 

I, that speak to ye, 
I had a brother once — a gracious boy, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 303 

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the beloved disciple. How I loved 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 

Brother, at once, and son ! He left my side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour 

The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse ! and then I cried 

For vengeance. 

Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slaves ! 
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice, 
Be answered by the lash. Yet this is Rome, 
That sat on seven hills, and, from her throne 
Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a king ! And once again, — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! — once again, I swear, 
The eternal city shall be free, her sons 
Shall walk with princes. 

Death of General Harrison. — Professor Haddock. 

1. Such was the man we mourn. Personal popularity raised 
him to the lofty eminence which personal merit adorned and 
dignified. The circumstances of his death are of that class 
which sometimes give to real history an air of romance, and a 
pathos beyond the power of imagination itself to equal. 

2. The hero and the politician had, twelve years before, retired 
from the scenes of public life to his quiet farm-house on the Ohio, 
to repose, at last, from a life of hazard and responsibility longer 



304 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



and more eventful than falls to the lot of most men. There, 
without a dream of future honors, or a thought of higher 
duties, he was personally tilling his humble acres, in humble 
garb, by day, and resting by night in slumbers which no care 
disturbed. 

2. By an unexpected turn of events, his name was mentioned 
among the candidates for the first office in his country. As if 
there had been some magic in the sound, the hero of Tippecanoe, 
the farmer of North Bend, the good man of the West, rose on the 
breath of popular enthusiasm, as on the bosom of a swelling sea, to 
the sublime height of power. Enthroned in the affections of mil 
lions, and robed in authority, he had just time to publish his prin 
ciples of administration, and collect his cabinet around him ; and 
at the very moment of his triumph, while an expectant and con 
fiding people were yet gazing on the spectacle, touched by death 
he melted away, like a snowflake in the sun. Within one brief 
month was he conducted by exulting multitudes, with paeans and 
floating banners, to the summit of earthly ambition, and, by the 
same multitudes, in weeds and tears, borne down to the lowly and 
dark house appointed for all the living. 

4. Power, empire, glory ! AVhat are ye all ? O, there are 
moments when the offices and honors of this world appear like 
the bright exhalations of a summer's morning, — as unsubstantial 
and as transient. And yet it is a noble life to live. There is a true 
greatness, — real and imperishable. The man dies. But there 
are greater objects than to live. It is not all of life to live. The 
fame of honorable deeds is a perennial beneficence. The con- 
sciousness of high and pure aims, the memory of worthy actions, 
— over these death hath no power. 

Equality in Rank necessary to Friendship. — Kenyon. 

" He who would taste of true felicity," 
Quoth Martial, " let his friends his equals be," — 
" Pares Amici," — which Servilio hears, 
And inly renders, " Let your friends be peers." 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 305 

Servilio — thus I mask a once-loved name — 
Be he our type ; the race are all the same ; 
With whom through childhood's trusting bowers I strayed, 
Conversed with schoolboy earnestness, or played ; 
Our young affections wreathed in strictest twine ; 
Of his love jealous ; all his quarrels mine ; 
And still we loved, as years familiar ran, 
From childhood up to youth, from youth to man. 
Servilio scarcely knows my name of late ; 
Servilio, now, may only know the great. 

On a low pony asked, as suits, to ride, 
Him late I saw, with pity for his pride, 
Straining, in vain, behind the spanking blood, 
And happy to receive his lordship's mud. 
For days his grace's well-watched pathway trod, 
A bow perchance he wrests, or wins a nod ; 
Then, home returned, his own full pride he wakes, 
Bows like the duke, and gives the nod he takes. 

You meet Servilio with his only boy, 
A very dream of love ! a living joy ! 
" Why, 'tis a cherub every heart to stir — 
Your own sweet child ? " — " Sir Simon's godchild, sir." 
Ignobly proud to tell the honor done, 
And happier in the sponsor than the son ! 

Such are the tribe in grandeur's skirts who nest, 
And soil, with reptile crawl, his ermine vest. 
Keep us alike from cold and fawning friends. 
Where flattery begins, there friendship ends. 
Friendless the great, whom friended most we call ; 
A king — the most unfriended wretch of all ! 
Where'er his palace gate its front shall rear, 
Be graved thereon, " No friendship enters here." 

His easy days Charles Stuart — not the first — 
Best of companions, if of kings the worst, 
Whiled gayly, with a witty, merry crew ; 
Friends ! nay, not courtiers — loving all and true ! 
26* 



306 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

How true, how loving — tell that proving hour, 
When Death shall lay his clay-cold hand on power ; 
Yea, even before hath ceased the deathbed knell, 
Let many a kingly couch, deserted, tell. 

The closing hour hath passed, which, soon or late, 
Must pass o'er all ; a monarch lies in state ; 
In lonely state ; for love hath gone, and sorrow, 
To plan the crowning pageant for to-morrow. 
Now, let thy fancy pierce yon glimmering room, 
That coffin's only guard, one sordid groom ; 
Mark how, the prowling night-rat scarce forbid, 
The varlet snores beside the ready lid. 
And what his dreams ? Are they of kingly fame, 
A weeping people, and a world's acclaim ? 
Ah, no ! he dreams of some contested grace, 
Trapping or plume, his perquisite of place ; 
Mutters his greedy discontent, half loud, 
And gropes with sleep-tied hand, to clutch the shroud. 

Yet, e'en for him, deserted thus who dies, 
Ere long shall statues gleam, shall columns rise, 
And epitaphs servility shall bring : 
Who lauds dead kingship flatters living king. 

Fallacy in supposing our Ancestors wiser than ourselves. 
Sydney Smith. 

1. Our wise ancestors — the wisdom of our ancestors — the 
wisdom of ages — venerable antiquity — wisdom of old times. 
All this cant about our ancestors is merely an abuse of words, by 
transferring phrases true of contemporary men to succeeding 
ages. Whereas, (as we have before observed,) of living men, 
the oldest has, cceteris paribus, the most experience ; of genera- 
tions, the oldest has, ceteris paribus, the least experience. 

2. Our ancestors, up to the conquest, were children in arms ; 
chubby boys in the time of Edward the First ; striplings under 
Elizabeth ; men in the reign of Queen Anne ; and we only are 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 307 

the white-bearded, silver-headed ancients, who have treasured up, 
and are prepared to profit by, all the experience which human 
life can supply. 

3. We are not disputing with our ancestors the palm -of talent, 
in which they may or may not be our superiors, but the palm of 
experience, in which it is utterly impossible they can be our 
superiors. And yet, whenever the chancellor comes forward to 
protect some abuse, or to oppose some plan which has the increase 
of human happiness for its object, his first appeal is always to the 
wisdom of our ancestors ; and he himself, and many noble lords 
who vote with him, are, to this hour, persuaded that all alterations 
and amendments on their devices are an unblushing controversy 
between youthful temerity and mature experience ! — and so, in 
truth, they are — only that much-loved magistrate mistakes the 
young for the old, and the old for the young ; and is guilty of 
that very sin against experience which he attributes to the lovers 
of innovation. 

4. We cannot, of course, be supposed to maintain that our 
ancestors wanted wisdom, or that they were necessarily mistaken 
in their institutions, because their means of information were more 
limited than ours. But we do confidently maintain that when we 
find it expedient to change any thing which our ancestors have 
enacted, we are the experienced persons, and not they. The 
quantity of talent is always varying in any great nation. To say 
that we are more or less able than our ancestors, is an assertion 
that requires to be explained. All the able men, of all ages, who 
have ever lived in England, probably possessed, if taken all 
together, more intellect than all the able men now in England 
can boast of. 

5. But if authority must be resorted to rather than reason, the 
question is, What was the wisdom of that single age which enacted 
the law, compared with the wisdom of the age which proposes to 
alter it ? What are the eminent men of one and the other period ? 
If you say that our ancestors were wiser than we, mention your 
date and year. 

6. If the splendor of names is equal, are the circumstances 



308 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

the same ? If the circumstances are the same, we have a superi- 
ority of experience, of which the difference between the two peri- 
ods is the measure. It is necessary to insist upon this ; for upon 
sacks of wool, and on benches forensic, sit grave men, and agric- 
olous persons in the commons, crying out, " Ancestors, ancestors ! 
hodie non ! Saxons, Danes, save us ! Fiddlefrig, help us ! 
Howel, Ethelwolf, protect us." Any cover for nonsense — any 
veil for trash — any pretext for repelling the innovations of con- 
science and duty ! 

Speech on the Seminole War. — Clay. 

1. Recall to your recollection the free nations which have gone 
before us. Where are they now ? 

" Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were, 
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour." 

And how have they lost their liberties ? If we could transport 
ourselves back to the ages when Greece and Rome flourished in 
their greatest prosperity, and, mingling in the throng, should ask 
a Grecian if he did not fear that some daring military chieftain, 
covered with glory, some Philip or Alexander, would one day 
overthrow the liberties of his country, the confident and indignant 
Grecian would exclaim, " No ! no ! we have nothing to fear from 
our heroes ; our liberties will be eternal." 

2. If a Roman citizen had been asked if he did not fear that 
the conqueror of Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of 
public liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insinu- 
ation. Yet Greece fell ; Caesar passed the Rubicon, and the 
patriotic arm even of Brutus could not preserve the liberties of 
his devoted country ! 

3. The celebrated Madame de Stael, in her last and perhaps 
her best work, has said, that in the very year, almost the very 
month, when the president of the directory declared that mon- 
archy would never more show its frightful head in France, Bona- 
parte, with his grenadiers, entered the palace of St. Cloud, and 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 309 

dispersing, with the bayonet, the deputies of the people, deliberat- 
ing on the affairs of the state, laid the foundation of that vast fabric 
of despotism which overshadowed all Europe. We are fighting 
a great moral battle, for the benefit not only of our country, but of 
all mankind. The eyes of the whole world are in fixed attention 
upon us. One, and the largest portion of it, is gazing with con- 
tempt, with jealousy, and with envy ; the other portion, with hope, 
with confidence, and with affection. Every where the black cloud 
of legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright 
spot, which breaks out from the political hemisphere of the West, 
to enlighten, and animate, and gladden the human heart. Obscure 
that by the downfall of liberty here, and all mankind are en- 
shrouded in a pall of universal darkness. 

5. To you, Mr. Chairman, belongs the high privilege of trans- 
mitting, unimpaired, to posterity, the fair character and liberty 
of our country. Do you expect to execute this high trust, by 
trampling, or suffering to be trampled down, laws, justice, the 
constitution, and the rights of the people ? by exhibiting examples 
of inhumanity j and cruelty, and ambition ? 

6. When the minions of despotism heard, in Europe, of the 
seizure of Pensacola, how did they chuckle, and chide the ad- 
mirers of our institutions, tauntingly pointing to the demonstra- 
tion of a spirit of injustice and aggrandizement made by our 
country, in the midst of an amicable negotiation ! 

7. " Behold," said they, " the conduct of those who are constantly 
reproaching kings." You saw how those admirers were astound- 
ed, and hung their heads. You saw, too, when that illustrious 
man, who presides over us, adopted his pacific, moderate, and just 
course, how they once more lifted up their heads with exultation 
and delight beaming in their countenances. And you saw how 
those minions themselves were finally compelled to unite in the 
general praises bestowed upon our government. 

9. Beware how you forfeit this exalted character. Beware 
how you give a fatal sanction, in this infant period of our republic, 
scarcely yet twoscore years old, to military insubordination. 
Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Csesar, 



310 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

England her Cromwell, France her Bonaparte ; and if we would 
escape the rock on which they split, we must avoid their errors. 

The Romans as Conquerors. — Pictorial History. 

1. The transformation of South Britain into a Roman province 
necessarily swept away the native government, and established 
another in its place ; the least of the novel characteristics of which 
was, that it was a government of foreigners. It was a sudden 
substitution of the institutions of civilization for those of a condi- 
tion nearly approaching to barbarism. The Romans were cer- 
tainly, as a nation, the greatest practical statesmen whom the 
world has yet beheld. Among other people, individuals have 
from time to time arisen, who have exhibited vast genius in devis- 
ing schemes of government, or have shown great capacity for 
administration. But among the Romans alone there existed insti- 
tutions which were able to insure a succession of men who were 
systematically taught to " sway the rod of empire." The cele- 
brated lines of their great poet were no mere poetical rhapsody — 
no vain and empty boast. 

2. " Let others better mould the running mass 
Of metals, and inform the breathing brass, 
And soften into flesh a marble face ; 
Plead better at the bar ; describe the skies, 
And when the stars descend, and when they rise. 
But, Rome, 'tis thine alone, with awful sway, 
To rule mankind, and make the world obey, 
Disposing peace and war, thy own majestic way; 
To tame the proud, the fettered slave to free ; 
These are imperial arts, and worthy thee." 

ffineid, vi. 848. 

3. The Roman was probably the wisest oligarchy that ever 
existed. In Rome, unlike what we have seen happen in other 
oligarchies, the education of the ruling class was as carefully 
attended to, as jealously watched over, as the preservation of their 
privileges. The Roman patrician was carefully and systemati- 
cally instructed in the art of war, and in such, and such only, of 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



311 



the arts of peace as were to be the source of power, the founda- 
tion of dominion over those who aimed at universal dominion. 
Thus they made their law, and above all their actiones legis, — 
their law of procedure, — a mystery into which a plebeian could 
never penetrate, but with which they themselves took care to be 
familiar. Thus among the Romans we sometimes see the most 
various and apparently (at least to our modern notions on the 
subject) inconsistent qualities united in the same individual. 
Without bringing forward cases, such as that of the all-accom- 
plished Julius Caesar, of men of great power and extent of original 
genius, we might cite instances from the Roman annals of the 
same man being jurisconsult, general, public professor of law, 
pontifex maximus, consul, dictator. When we consider that to 
these various accomplishments were added, in the Roman, an iron 
discipline, and a courage cool, steady, collected, we shall not 
wonder that his march was to uninterrupted victory and universal 
empire. 

4. Long after a military despotism had succeeded to the 
power of that mighty oligarchy, Rome still continued as much of 
her ancient policy as required that able men, though no longer 
so exclusively selected from one class, should be appointed to 
govern her provinces and command her armies. We have only 
to look at the result to be convinced that Britain was not an 
exception to this salutary rule. 

5. The ministers of the Roman state, whether called republic 
or empire, the representatives of the majesty of the Roman name, 
were educated soldiers, jurisconsults, statesmen ; and, whatever 
might be their errors and their vices, — and they were, no doubt, 
many, — they conquered, and, up to a certain point, civilized, a 
large portion of the world. In a greater degree than any other 
people have done, the Romans communicated to the nations they 
conquered (not merely, as is often falsely asserted, their vices, 
but) whatever of the blessings of civilization they themselves 
possessed. 

6. It is interesting to an inhabitant of Great Britain at the 
present day, to reflect that, towards the beginning of the Christian 



312 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

era, more than fifteen hundred years ago, this island actually- 
possessed, for a period of above three hundred years, nearly the 
whole of the Roman civilization ; that, in the second and third 
centuries of the Christian era, the inhabitants of Britain enjoyed 
personal security, and, after the payment of the Roman taxes, 
security of property, arts and letters, elegant and commodious 
buildings, and roads, to which no roads they have had since 
could bear comparison, till the establishment of the present rail- 
ways. As we look along the line of the Greenwich railroad, and 
contemplate its massive yet elegant arches, its compact and 
solid masonry, its iron highway, and the ponderous yet com- 
pact carriages that fly along it, and reflect that the whole king- 
dom will soon be intersected with similar gigantic structures, we 
feel as if the times of Roman enterprise, as regards vastness of 
design and durability of workmanship, had returned. It is an 
inquiry of no common importance and interest to attempt to learn 
what were the principal features of that civilization which rose so 
early, and, after lasting some three centuries, was so rapidly and 
totally destroyed. 

The Effects and Tendencies of Christianity. — President 
Hopkins. 

1. Certainly no revolution that has ever taken place in society 
can be compared to that which has been produced by the words of 
Jesus Christ. Those words met a want, a deep want, in the spirit 
of man. They placed in the clear sunlight of truth a solution of 
those profound problems and enigmas, in relation to man and his 
destiny, about which the philosophers only disputed. They more 
than confirmed every timid hope which the wisest and best of men 
had cherished. He pointed men to a Father in heaven, to the 
mansions of rest which he would prepare. He "brought life and 
immortality to light.'" He erected a perfect standard of morals, 
and insisted upon love to God and love to man, and he stood 
before men in the glorious light of his own perfect example. He 
spoke, and that spiritual slumber of the race which seemed the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 313 

image of death was broken up, and a movement commenced in 
the moral elements that has not ceased from that day to this, and 
that never will cease. Those who were mourning heard his 
voice, and were comforted ; those who were weary and heavy- 
laden heard it, and found rest unto their souls. It stirred up feel- 
ings, both of opposition and of love, deeper than those of natural 
affection. It therefore set "the son against the father, and the 
father against the son," and caused " a man's foes to be they of 
his own household." 

2. Having no affinity with any of the prevalent forms of idolatry 
and corruption, and making no compromise with them, it turned 
the world upside down wherever it came. Before it, the heathen 
oracles were dumb, and the fires upon their altars went out. It 
acted as an invisible and secret force on society, communing 
with men upon their beds by night, dissuading them from wicked- 
ness, seconding the voice of conscience, giving both distinctness 
and energy to its tones, now whispering, and now speaking with a 
voice that made the stoutest tremble, of righteousness, temper- 
ance, and of a judgment to come. It opened heaven, and spoke 
to the ear of hope. It uncovered that world, " where their worm 
dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." It was stern in its 
rebukes of every sin, and encouraged every thing that was " pure, 
and lovely, and of good report." Being addressed to man uni- 
versally, without regard to his condition or his nation, it paid little 
regard to differences of language, or habits, or the boundaries of 
states. Persecution was aroused ; it kindled its fires, it brought 
forth its wild beasts. Blood flowed like water ; but the blood of 
the martyrs was the seed of the church. No external force could 
avail against a power like this. The word was spoken, and it 
could not be recalled. The hand of God had made a new adjust- 
ment in the movement of the moral world, and the hand of man 
could not put it back. 

3. No other revolution has ever been so extensive or so radi- 
cal. Moving on directly to the accomplishment of its own more 
immediate and higher objects, the voice of Christ has incidentally 
caused, not only moral, but social and civil revolutions. It has 

27 



314 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

banished idolatry and polytheism, with their inseparable degrada- 
tions, and pollutions, and cruelty. Human sacrifices, offered by 
our own ancestors, by the Greeks, and Romans, and Carthagin- 
ians, and the ancient worshippers of Baal and Moloch, — offered 
now in the islands of the Pacific, and in India, and in Africa, — 
cease at once where Christianity comes. It was before its light 
had visited this continent, that seventy thousand human beings 
were sacrificed at the consecration of a single temple.* It has 
banished the ancient games, in which men slew each other, and 
were exposed to the fury of wild beasts, for the amusement of the 
people. It has banished slavery, once so prevalent, from Europe, 
and from a large portion of this continent. To a great extent it 
has put an end to the exposure of infants. It has elevated wo- 
man, and given her the place in society which God designed she 
should occupy. By putting an end to polygamy, and to frequent 
divorces, it has provided for the cultivation of the domestic and 
natural affections, for the proper training of children, and for all 
the unspeakable blessings connected with the purity and peace, 
and mutual love and confidence, of Christian families. It has so 
elevated the general standard of morality, that unnatural crimes, 
and the grosser forms of sensuality, which once appeared openly, 
and were practised and defended by philosophers, now shrink 
away and hide themselves in the darkness. 

4. It has diminished the frequency of wars, and mitigated their 
horrors. It has introduced the principle of general benevolence, 
unknown before, and led men to be willing to labor, and suffer, 
and give their property, for the good of those whom they have 
never seen, and never expect to see in this life. It has led 
men to labor for the welfare of the soul, and, in connection with 
such labors, to provide for the sufferings and for the physical 
wants of the poor ; and it is found that these two go hand in hand, 
and cannot be separated. If there be here and there a mistaken 
zealot, or a pharisaical professor of Christianity, who would seem 
to be zealous for the spiritual wants of men, and yet would say to 

* Prescott's Mexico. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 315 

the hungry and the naked, " Be ye clothed and be ye fed," — at the 
same time giving them nothing to supply their wants, — it is also 
found, not only that the truest regard for the present well-being 
of man must manifest itself through a regard for his spiritual 
wants, but also that, when a regard to those wants ceases, the 
lower charity, which cares for the body, will decay with it. When 
the tree begins to die at the top, where the juices are elaborated 
that nourish it, it will die down. 

5. Christianity alone has built hospitals for v the sick and for the 
insane, and almshouses, and houses of refuge, and provided for the 
instruction and reformation of those confined as criminals. Was 
there ever any thing in a heathen land like what is to be seen at 
South Boston ? What book is it that the blind are taught to read ? 
If there had been no Bible, and no such estimate of the worth of 
man as that contains, can any one believe that the great work of 
printing for the blind would have been performed ? or that the 
deaf and dumb would have been so provided for ? When I 
recently saw those blind children so instructed, and heard them 
sing, — when I saw thoughts and feelings chasing each other like 
light and shade over the speaking countenance of Laura Bridg- 
man, deaf, and dumb, and blind, — I could not but feel, though 
the ordinary fountains of knowledge were still sealed up, yet that 
in a high sense it might be said to them and to her, as Peter said 
to Eneas, " Jesus Christ maketh thee whole." 

The Same, continued. 

1. And what Christianity has hitherto done, it is now doing. It 
is to some extent imbodying its force in missionary operations, and 
it has lost none of its original power. Men are found ready to take 
their lives in their hands, to forsake their country, and friends, 
and children, and go among the heathen, for the love of Jesus : 
and it is found that the same simple preaching of the cross, that 
was mighty of old to the pulling down of strongholds, is still 
accompanied with a divine power ; and nations of idolaters, 
savages, cannibals, infanticides, are seen coming up out of the 



316 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

night of paganism, and taking their place among civilized, and 
literary, and Christian nations. 

2. These, and such as these, are the public, visible, and unde- 
niable effects of Christianity, uniformly produced in any commu- 
nity in proportion as a pure Christianity prevails. To me, how- 
ever, these are rather indications of a great work, than the work 
itself. They are but as the coral reef that appears above the 
surface, which is as nothing to the deep and concealed labors of 
the little ocean architect. Like that architect in the ocean, Chris- 
tianity begins at the bottom of society, and works up. It never 
acts successfully upon the faculties of man as an external force. 
It must act through these faculties, and hence it can change public 
institutions and forms of government, and produce those great 
public effects which are noticed, only as it changes individuals. 

3. How immense the work, how mighty the changes which 
must have been wrought in individuals, before these imbodied 
and public effects could appear ! Such institutions and effects are 
the results of a life, a vitality, a power ; and they stand as the 
indices and monuments of its action. When I see the earth cov- 
ered with vegetation, — when I see a vast forest standing and 
clothed with the green robes of summer, — I know there must have 
been an amazing amount of elemental action. I think how the 
atmosphere, and the light, and the moisture, and the earth, must 
have conspired together, and how the principle of vegetable life 
must have lifted up the mass, particle by particle, till at length it 
had formed the sturdy trunk, and set his " coronal " of green leaves 
upon the monarch of the forest. 

4. And so, when I see these results, these institutions, standing 
in their freshness and greenness, — when I see the moral desert 
budding and blossoming, — I know there must have been the play 
of moral life, the clear shining of truth, the movement of the Spirit 
of God, and the deep, though, it may be, silent stragglings of the 
spirit of man. Then I know that conscience must have been 
aroused, and that there has been the anxious questioning, and the 
earnest struggle, and that the tear of penitence has flowed, and 
that the secret prayer has gone up, and that songs of hope and 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 317 

salvation have taken the place of a sense of guilt and of anxious- 
fear. Then I know that there have been holy lives and happy 
deaths. Such changes in individuals, and such results, who that 
lives in these days has not seen ? Such changes and results it is 
the great object of Christianity to produce. When it shall produce 
these changes fully upon all, fitting them for heaven, then, and 
not till then, will its tendencies be fully carried out. Then will 
every thing wrong in the constitution and relations of society be 
displaced, and without violence, as the organization of the chrysalis 
is displaced by that of the bright and winged "being that is enfolded 
within it, and society shall come forth in its perfect state. Then 
shall the will of God be done ; and this earth, so long tempest- 
tossed, like a clear and peaceful lake, shall reflect the image of 
heaven. 

The Good Man. — Young. 

Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, 
What nothing less than angel can exceed, 
A man on earth devoted to the skies ; 
Like ships at sea, while in, above the world. 

With aspect mild, and elevated eye, 
Behold him seated on a mount serene, 
Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm ; 
All the black cares and tumults of this life, 
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, 
Excite his pity, not impair his peace. 
Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave, 
A mingled mob ! a wandering herd ! he sees, 
Bewildered in the vale ; in all unlike ! 
His full reverse in all ! What higher praise ? 
What stronger demonstration of the right ? 

The present all their care, the future his. 
When public welfare calls, or private want, 
They give to Fame ; his bounty he conceals. 
Their virtues varnish Nature, his exalt. 
27* 



318 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Mankind's esteem they court, and he his own. 
Theirs the wild chase of false felicities ; 
His the composed possession of the true. 
Alike throughout is his consistent peace, 
All of one color, and an even thread ; 
While party-colored shreds of happiness, 
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them 
A madman's robe ; each puff of Fortune blows 
The tatters by, and shows their nakedness. 

He sees with other eyes than theirs ; where they 
Behold a sun, he spies a Deity. 
What makes them only smile, makes him adore. 
Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees. 
An empire in his balance weighs a grain. 
They things terrestrial worship as divine ; 
His hopes, immortal, blow them by as dust 
That dims his sight, and shortens his survey, 
Which longs in infinite to lose all bound. 
Titles and honors (if they prove his fate) 
He lays aside to find his dignity ; 
No dignity they find in aught besides. 
They triumph in externals, (which conceal 
Man's real glory,) proud of an eclipse ; 
Himself too much he prizes to be proud, 
And nothing thinks so great in man as man. 
Too dear he holds his interest to neglect 
Another's welfare, or his right invade ; 
Their interest, like a lion, lives on prey. 
They kindle at the shadow of a wrong ; 
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on Heaven, 
Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe. 
Nought but what wounds his virtue wounds his peace. 
A covered heart their character defends ; 
A covered heart denies him half his praise. 
With nakedness his innocence agrees, 
While their broad foliage testifies their fall. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 319 

Their no-joys end where his full feast begins ; 

His joys create, theirs murder future bliss. 

To triumph in existence his alone ; 

And his alone triumphantly to think 

His true existence is not yet begun. 

His glorious course was yesterday complete : 

Death then was welcome, yet life still is sweet. 

Heat. — Arnott. 

1. In the winter of climates where the temperature is for a 
time below the freezing point of water, the earth, with its waters, 
is bound up in snow and ice ; the trees and shrubs are leafless, 
appearing every where like withered skeletons ; countless multi- 
tudes of living creatures, owing either to the bitter cold or defi- 
ciency of food, are perishing in the snows ; nature seems dying 
or dead. But what a change when spring returns, that is, when 
heat returns ! The earth is again uncovered and soft, the rivers 
flow, the lakes are again liquid mirrors, the warm showers come 
to foster vegetation, which soon covers the ground with beauty 
and plenty. Man, lately inactive, is recalled to many duties ; his 
water-wheels are every where at work, his boats are again on the 
canals and streams, his busy fleets of industry are along the 
shores ; winged life in new multitudes fills the sky, finny life 
similarly fills the waters, and every spot of earth teems with 
vitality and joy. 

2. Many persons regard these changes of season as if they 
came like the successive positions of a turning wheel, of which 
one necessarily brings the next ; not adverting that it is the single 
circumstance of change of temperature, which does all. But if 
the colds of winter arrive too early, they unfailingly produce the 
wintry scene ; and if warmth come before its time in spring, 
it expands the bud and the blossom, which a return of frost 
will surely destroy. A seed sown in an ice-house never awakens 
to life. 

3. Again, as regards climates, the earthy matters forming the 



320 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

exterior of our globe, and therefore entering into the composition 
of soils, are not different for different latitudes, — at the equator, 
for instance, and near the poles. That the aspect of nature, then, 
in the two situations, exhibits a contrast more striking still than 
between summer and winter, is owing merely to an inequality of 
temperature, which is permanent. Were it not for this, in both 
situations the same vegetables might grow, and the same animals 
might find their befitting support. 

4. But now, in the one, namely, where heat abounds, we see 
the magnificent scene of tropical fertility ; the earth covered with 
luxuriant vegetation in endless lovely variety, and even the hard 
rocks festooned with green, perhaps with the vine, rich in its 
purple clusters. In the midst of this scene, animal existence is 
equally abundant, and many of the species are of surpassing 
beauty : the plumage of the birds is as brilliant as the gayest 
flowers. The warm air is perfume from the spice-beds, the sky 
and clouds are often dyed in tints as bright as freshest rainbow, 
and happy human inhabitants call the scene a paradise. 

5. Again, where heat is absent, we have the dreary cpectacle 
of polar barrenness, — bare rock or mountain, instead of fertile 
field ; water every where hardened to solidity ; no rain, nor cloud, 
nor dew ; few motions but drifting snow ; vegetable life scarcely 
existing, and then only in sheltered places turned to the sun ; 
and, instead of the palms and other trees of India, whose single 
leaf is almost broad enough to cover a hut, there are bushes and 
trees, as the furze and fir, having what may be called hairs or 
bristles, in the room of leaves. 

6. In the winter time, during which the sun is not seen for 
nearly six months, new horrors are added — the darkness and 
dreadful silence, the cold benumbing all life, and even freezing 
mercury — a scene into which man may penetrate from happier 
climes, but where he can only leave his protecting ship and fires 
for short periods, as he might issue from a diving-bell at the bot- 
tom of the ocean. That, in these now desolate regions, heat only 
is wanted to make them like the most favored countries of the 
earth, is proved by the recent discoveries under ground of the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 321 

remnant of animals and vegetables, formerly inhabiting them, 
which now can live only near the equator. 

7. While winter then, or the temporary absence of heat, may 
be called the sleep of nature, the more permanent torpor about 
the poles appears like its death ; and when we further reflect, 
that heat is the great agent in numberless important processes of 
chemistry and domestic economy, and is the actuating principle 
of the mighty steam engine which now performs half the work 
of society, how truly may heat, the subject of our present chap- 
ter, be considered as the life or soul of the universe ! 

Light. — Arnott. 

1. fThe truths now positively ascertained with respect to the 
nature of light and vision, are perhaps those in the wide field of 
human inquiry which, acting on ordinary apprehension, most 
forcibly place the individual, as it were, in the presence of Cre- 
ative Intelligence, and awaken the most elevated thoughts of 
which the human mind is capable. 

2. Had there been no light in the universe, all its other perfec- 
tions had existed in vain. Men placed on earth would have been 
as human exiles with their eyes put out, abandoned on an un- 
known shore, of climate and productions totally new to them : 
every movement might be to destruction, for their perceptions 
would be limited by the length of their arms, and of their fearful 
groping steps, and the wretched beings, separating when impelled 
by hunger to search for food, would probably scatter to meet no 
more. 

3. But the material of light exists, pervading all space ; and 
certain impressions made upon it in one place rapidly spread over 
the universe, the progressive impression being called a ray, or 
beam of light. The beams of light, then, from all parts coming 
to every individual, may be regarded as supplementary arms or 
feelers belonging to the individual, and which reach to the end of 
the universe, so that each person, instead of being as a blind point 
in space, becomes nearly omnipresent. Then these limbs or 



322 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

feelers have no weight ; they are never in the way ; they impede 
nothing, and they are only known to exist when their use is 
required ! 

4. But this miracle of light would have been totally useless, and 
the lovely paradise of earth would have been to man still a dark 
and dreary desert, had there not been the twin miracle of an 
organ of commensurate delicacy to perceive the light, namely, the 
Eye; in which there is the round cornea, of such perfect trans- 
parence, placed exactly in the anterior centre of the ball, (and else- 
where it had been useless ;) then exactly behind this, the beautiful 
curtain, the iris, with its pupil dilating and contracting to suit the 
intensity of light ; and exactly behind this, again, the crystalline 
lens, having many qualities which only complex structure in hu- 
man art can attain, and by the entering light forming on the retina 
beautiful pictures or images of the objects in front, the most sen- 
sible part of the retina being where the images fall. 

5. Of these parts and conditions, had any one been otherwise 
than as it is, the whole eye had been useless, and light useless, 
and the great universe useless to man, for he could not have 
existed in it. Then, further, we find that the precious organ, 
the eye, is placed, not, as if by accident, somewhere near the 
centre of the person, but aloft, on a proud eminence, where it 
becomes the glorious watchtower of the soul ; and, again, not so 
that, to alter its direction, the whole person must turn, but in the 
head, which, on a pivot of admirable structure, moves while the 
body is at rest ; the ball of the eye, moreover, being furnished 
with muscles which, as the will directs, turn it, with the rapidity 
of lightning, to sweep round the horizon, or take in the whole 
heavenly concave. Then is the delicate orb secured in a strong 
socket of bone, and there is over this the arched eyebrow, as a 
cushion, to destroy the shock of blows, and with its inclined hairs 
to turn aside the descending perspiration which might incom- 
mode. Then is there the soft and pliant eyelid, with its beaute- 
ous fringes, incessantly wiping the polished surface, and spread- 
ing over it the pure moisture poured out by the lachrymal glands 
above, of which moisture the superfluity, by a fine mechanism, is 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 323 

sent into the nose, there to be evaporated by the current of the 
breath. Still further, instead of there being only one so precious 
organ, there are two, lest one, by accident, should be destroyed, 
but which two have so entire a sympathy, that they act together 
as only one more perfect. Then the sense of sight continues 
perfect during the period of growth from birth to maturity, 
although the distance from the lens to the retina is constantly 
varying ; and the pure liquid which fills the eye, if rendered 
turbid by disease or accident, is by the actions of life, although its 
source be the thick red blood, gradually restored to transparency. 

6. The mind which can suppose or admit that within any lim- 
its of time, even a single such organ of vision could have been 
produced by accident or without design, — and still more, that 
the millions which now exist on earth, all equally perfect, can 
have sprung from accident — or that the millions of millions in 
past ages were all but accidents — and that the endless millions 
throughout the animate creation, where each requires a most 
peculiar fitness to the nature and circumstances of the animal, 
can be accident, — must surely be of extraordinary character, or 
must have received unhappy bias in its education. 

7. As a concluding reflection with respect to vision, we may 
remark, that all the provisions above considered have mere utility 
in view, for any one of them wanting would leave a necessary 
link in the chain of creation wanting. But we have shown in a 
preceding part of the work, that if there had been white light 
only, susceptible of different degrees of intensity and shade, the 
merely useful purposes of vision would have been answered about 
as perfectly as with all the colors of the rainbow — which truth is 
instanced in the facts, that many persons do not distinguish colors, 
and that it imports not whether a person view objects in the 
morning, or at midday, or at eventide, or through plain glass 
or colored glass. 

8. While, therefore, the existence of light generally, and of the 
eye, speaks of creative power and intelligence, the existence of 
colors, or of that lovely variety of hues exhibited in flowers, in 
the plumage of birds, in the endless aspects of the earth and 



324 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

heavens, — in a word, in the whole resplendent clothing of nature, 
— because appearing expressly planned, as a source of delight to 
animated beings, speaks of creative benevolence, and may well 
excite in us, towards the Being in whom these attributes concen- 
trate, the feelings associated in our minds, during this earthly 
scene, with the endearing appellation of " Father." 

Character before Scholarship. — G. Putnam. 

1. It is not a small thing to make the results of age correspond 
in beauty and dignity to the promise of youth. It is no ordinary 
career that makes the almond -blossoms of age as beautiful and as 
desirable as the blooming roses of youth, and the drear autumn of 
life as lustrous and fair as the sweet spring time, and the satisfac- 
tions of the finished race as dear as the fresh-budding hopes that 
brightened its beginning. That is success, and it is no light thing 
to win it. Intellect alone, genius, learning, eloquence, skill, indus- 
try, ambition, — these alone never won it since the world has stood, 
and never will. But it can be won. Let principle, character, and 
soul accompany, pervade, and underlie these great intellectual 
instrumentalities, and it is won gloriously. 

2. The most dreary and awful chapter in the world's history 
would be, I suspect, that which should give a true and full account 
of the declining years, the exit off the stage, of highly-gifted and 
highly-cultivated minds, but unprincipled, or low-principled, and 
a career conforming. It would be an account of despondency, 
misanthropy, and bitter disappointment ; a strong man feeling 
himself enslaved by contemptible selfishness, and scourged and 
hag-ridden by the meanest passions. 

3. It would bring to light that hungry, aching sense, which 
such minds must feel intensely then, of the worthlessness of what 
they had done, and the hollowness of what they had got. It would 
tell of the unsolaced miseries of great powers perverted, and a 
privileged life wasted, if no worse. It would record the real 
failure of existence, and the woes that, haunt the harrowing con- 
sciousness of it ; and yet that very failure is the success which 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 325 

many a young scholar is pressing forward to attain, as the wor- 
thiest object and the brightest boon. Genius and intellectual 
culture are a fiery curse, unless the mind be disenchanted of that 
delusion. 

4. The first thing for the scholar to do — the one thing from 
which all else will follow — is to give the world assurance of a 
man. Let each scholar bring a man into the field of the world, — 
a man, with a robust and healthy soul in him, — and he will find 
his work, nor need any to tell him. Let him bring into the com- 
mon stock of beneficent agencies, in his own person, a lofty, gener- 
ous manhood, devoted to truth, justice, and humanity, and he will 
have done his part. The world wants him, not merely his intel- 
lectual gifts and preparations, which are but his armor, his plume, 
and his trumpet, — he wants these, to make him a man of might 
and a man of mark ; but the world wants him, a true and living 
soul ; not his accoutrements, but him. A true and high-toned, 
high-principled man is the only legitimate and desirable result of 
scholarship. 

5. In the beginning of this address, I said, and have endeavored 
to keep my word so far, that I would plead only for intellectual 
interests ; that Virtue should yield her supremacy, and be treated 
as only the servant of the intellect, taking the second seat. But 
she will not stay there. And in closing, I must recant my prom- 
ise, and put her back. Whether from professional habit, or, as I 
would hope, from the resistless rightfulness of the procedure, I 
must put her back. Virtue will not stay in the second place. 
She will serve the intellect, but serve only by reigning. She 
must have the throne in man, or there is no rule in him but 
anarchy, and no end for him but defeat. She must have the 
making of the man, or he is but hollow armor and a whited 
sepulchre. 

6. Yes, in reason and in fact, character goes before scholarship, 
invests it, includes it. Genius and learning must walk in the train 
of Virtue, and lackey her to her triumphs ; so only can they share 
them with her. The gifts of intellect, the privil°ges and acqui- 
sitions of scholarship, are worse than lost, unblessed of God and 

28 



326 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



unaccepted of mankind, except as they conspire obediently with 
their divine leader, Virtue, to furnish forth a Man. 



The Spirit of Freedom. — Alison. 

1. Does, then, the march of freedom necessarily terminate in 
disaster ? Is improvement inevitably allied to innovation, innova- 
tion to revolution ? And must the philosopher, who beholds the 
infant struggles of liberty, ever foresee in their termination the 
blood of Robespierre or the carnage of Napoleon ? No ! The 
distinction between the two is as wide as between day and night — 
between virtue and vice. The simplest and rudest of mankind 
may distinguish, with as much certainty as belongs to erring mor- 
tals, whether the ultimate tendency of innovations is beneficial or 
ruinous — whether they are destined to bring blessings or curses 
on their wings. 

2. This test is to be found in the character of those who sup- 
port them, and the moral justice or injustice of their measures. 
If those who forward the work of reform are the most pure and 
upright in their private conduct; if they are the foremost in every 
moral and religious duty, most unblemished in their intercourse 
with men, and most undeviating in their duty to God ; if they are 
the best fathers, the best husbands, the best landlords, the most 
charitable and humane of society, who take the lead ; if their pro- 
ceedings are characterized by moderation, and they are scrupu- 
lously attentive to justice and humanity in all their actions, — then 
the people may safely follow in. their steps, and anticipate bless- 
ings to themselves and their children from the measures they 
promote. 

3. But if the reverse of all this is the case ; if the leaders, who 
seek to rouse their passions, are worthless or suspicious in private 
life ; if they are tyrannical landlords, faithless husbands, negligent 
fathers ; if they are skeptical or indifferent in religion, reckless or 
improvident in conduct, ruined or tottering in fortune ; if they are 
selfish in their enjoyments, and callous and indifferent to the poor ; 
if their liberty is a cloak for licentiousness, and their patriotism an 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 327 

excuse for ambition ; if their actions are hasty and inconsiderate, 
and their measures calculated to do injustice or create suffering to 
individuals, on the plea of state necessity, — then the people may 
rest assured that they are leading them to perdition ; that the 
fabric of liberty never yet was reared by such hands, or on such 
a basis ; and that, whatever temporary triumph may attend their 
steps, the day of reckoning will -come, and an awful retribution 
awaits them or their children. 

4. The final result of the irreligious efforts of the French 
people is singularly illustrative of the moral government to 
which human affairs are subject, and of the vanity of all attempts 
to check that spread of religion which has been decreed by 
almighty power. When the Parisian philosophers beheld the 
universal diffusion of the spirit of skepticism which they had 
produced, — when a nation was seen abjuring every species of 
devotion, and a generation rising in the heart of Europe ignorant 
of the very elements of religious belief, — the triumph of infidelity 
appeared complete, and the faithful trembled and mourned in 
silence at the melancholy prospects which were opening upon the 
world. 

5. Yet in this very spirit were preparing, by an unseen hand, 
the means of the ultimate triumph of civilized over barbaric 
belief, and of a greater spread of the Christian faith than had 
taken place since it was embraced by the tribes who overthrew the 
Roman empire. In the deadly strife of European ambition, the 
arms of civilization acquired an irresistible preponderance ; with 
its last convulsions the strength of Russia was immeasurably 
augmented, and that mighty power, which had been organized by 
the genius of Peter, and matured by the ambition of Catharine, 
received its final development from the invasion of Napoleon. 

6. The Crescent, long triumphant over the Cross, has now 
yielded to its ascendant ; the barrier of the Caucasus and the 
Balkhan have been burst by its champions ; the ancient war-cry 
of Constantinople, " Victory to the Cross ! " has, after an interval 
of four centuries, been heard on the iEgean Sea ; and that lasting 
triumph, which all the enthusiasm of the crusaders could not 



328 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

effect, has arisen from the energy infused into what was then an 
unknown tribe, by the infidel arms of their descendants. 

7. In such marvellous and unforeseen consequences, the histo- 
rian finds ample grounds for consolation at the temporary triumph 
of wickedness ; from the corruption of decaying he turns to the 
energy of infant civilization ; while he laments the decline of the 
principles of prosperity in their present seats, he anticipates their 
resurrection in those where they were first cradled ; and traces, 
through all the vicissitudes of nations, the incessant operation of 
those general laws which provide, even amid the decline of pres- 
ent greatness, for the final improvement and elevation of the 
species. 

Shylock. — Shakspeare. 

Salar. But tell us : do you hear whether Antonio have had any 
loss at sea or no ? 

Shy. There I have another bad match. A bankrupt, a prod- 
igal, who dares scarce show his head on the Bialto : a beggar, 
that used to come so smug upon the mart ! Let him look to his 
bond : he was wont to call me usurer ; let him look to his bond : he 
was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; let him look to 
his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his 
flesh ; what's that good for ? 

Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing else, it will 
feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of 
half a million ; laughed at my losses ; mocked my gains ; scorned 
my nation ; thwarted my bargains ; cooled my friends ; heated my 
enemies ; and what's his reason ? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew 
eyes ? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, 
passions ? is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same 
weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Chris- 
tian is ? If you prick us, do we not bleed ? If you tickle us, 
do we not laugh ? If you poison us, do we not die ? and if you 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 329 

wrong us, shall we not revenge ? If we are like you in the rest, 
we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what 
is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what 
should his sufferance be by Christian example ? Why, revenge. 
The villany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, 
but I will better the instruction. 



Man made for Labor. — Everett. 

1. Man is, by nature, an active being. He is made to labor. 
His whole organization, mental and physical, is that of a hard- 
working being. Of his mental powers we have no conception, 
but as certain capacities of intellectual action. His corporeal 
faculties are contrived for the same end, with astonishing variety 
of adaptation. Who can look only at the muscles of the hand, and 
doubt that man was made to work ? Who can be conscious of 
judgment, memory, and reflection, and doubt that man was made 
to act ? 

2. He requires rest, but it is in order to invigorate him for 
new efforts ; to recruit his exhausted powers ; and, as if to show 
him, by the very nature of rest, that it is means, not end, that 
form of rest which is most essential and most grateful — sleep — 
is attended with the temporary suspension of the conscious and 
active powers; an image of death. Nature is so ordered, as 
both to require and encourage man to work. He is created with 
wants which cannot be satisfied without labor. 

3. The plant springs up and grows on the -spot where the seed 
was cast by accident. It is fed by the moisture which saturates 
the earth, or is held suspended in the air ; and it brings with it a 
sufficient covering to protect its delicate internal structure. It 
toils not, neither doth it spin, for clothing or food. But man is so 
created, that, let his wants be as simple as they will, he must labor 
to supply them. 

28* 



330 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

The Murderer detected. — Webster. 

1. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and 
steadiness equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. 
The circumstances, now clearly in evidence, spread out the 
whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen on the destined 
victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to 
whom sleep was sweet, — the first sound slumbers of the night 
held him in their soft but strong embrace. 

2. The assassin enters, through the window already prepared, 
into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot, he paces the 
lonely hall, half lighted by the moon : he winds up the ascent of 
the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this he 
moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its 
hinges ; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The 
room was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face 
of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer ; and the 
beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his aged temple, 
showed him where to strike. The fatal blow is given ! and the 
victim passes, without a struggle or a motion, from the repose of 
sleep to the repose of death ! 

3. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work ; and he yet 
plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been destroyed 
by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that 
he may not fail in his aim at the heart, and replaces it again over 
the wounds of the poniard ! To finish the picture, he explores 
the wrist for the pulse ! he feels it, and ascertains that it beats no 
longer ! It is accomplished : the deed is done. He retreats, 
retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came 
in, and escapes. He has done the murder : no eye has seen 
him ; no ear has heard him : the secret is his own, and he 
is safe ! 

4. Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a 
secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has 
neither nook nor corner where the guilty can bestow it, and say 
it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 331 

disguises, and beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon, — 
such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by man. 

5. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder will out." 
True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern 
things, that those who break the great law of Heaven, by shedding 
man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery : especially, 
in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must and 
will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to 
explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, connected 
with the time and place : a thousand ears catch every whisper : a 
thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene ; shedding 
all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstances into 
a blaze of discovery. 

6. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It 
is false to itself ; or rather it feels an irresistible impulse of con- 
science to be true to itself : it labors under its guilty possession, 
and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not 
made for the residence of such an inhabitant; it finds itself 
preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God 
or man. A vulture is devouring it, and it asks no sympathy or 
assistance, either from heaven or earth. 

7. The secret which the murderer possesses soon comes to 
possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it over- 
comes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it 
beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. 
He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, 
and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. 
It has become his master. It betrays his discretion ; it breaks 
down his courage ; it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, 
from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances 
to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence 
to burst forth. It must be confessed : it will be confessed : there 
is no refuge from confession but suicide ; and suicide is confession. 



332 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

A Cultivated Imagination. — Akenside. 

O, blest of heaven, whom not the languid songs 
Of luxury, the siren ! not the bribes 
Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
Of pageant honor can seduce to leave 
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
Of nature fair imagination culls 
To charm the enlivened soul ! What though not all 
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
Of envied life ; though only few possess 
Patrician treasures or imperial state ; 
Yet nature's care, to all her children just, 
With richer treasures and an ampler state, 
Endows at large whatever happy man 
Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
The rural honors his. Whate'er adorns 
The princely dome, the column and the arch, 
The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold, 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring 
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
Its lucid leaves unfolds ; for him, the hand 
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch 
With blooming gold and blushes like the morn. 
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; 
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes 
Fresh pleasures only ; for the attentive mind, 
By this harmonious action on her power, 
Becomes herself harmonious ; wont so oft 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

In outward things to meditate the charm 

Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 

To find a kindred order, to exert 

Within herself this elegance of love, 

This fair-inspired delight : her tempered powers 

Refine at length, and every passion wears 

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 

On nature's form, where, negligent of all 

These lesser graces, she assumes the port 

Of that eternal Majesty that weighed 

The world's foundations, if to these the mind 

Exalts her daring eye, — then mightier far 

Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms 

Of servile custom cramp her generous powers ? 

Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth 

Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down 

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ? 

Lo ! she appeals to nature, to the winds 

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, 

The elements and seasons ; all declare 

For what the eternal Maker has ordained 

The powers of man ; we feel within ourselves 

His energy divine ; he tells the heart, 

He meant, he made us to behold and love 

What he beholds and loves, the general orb 

Of life and being ; to be great like him, 

Beneficent and active. Thus the men 

Whom nature's works can charm, with God himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 

With his conceptions, act upon his plan, 

And form to his the relish of their souls. 



333 






334 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Literature and Morals. — Professor Frisbie. 

1. Those compositions in poetry and prose, which constitute 
the literature of a nation, — the essay, the drama, the novel, — it 
cannot be doubted, have a most extensive and powerful influence 
upon the moral feelings and character of the age. The very 
business of the authors of such works, is, directly or indirectly, 
with the heart. Even descriptions of natural scenery owe much 
of their beauty and interest to the moral associations they awaken. 

2. In like manner, fine turns of expression or thought often 
operate more by suggestion than enumeration. But when feel- 
ings and passions are directly described, or imbodied in the hero, 
and called forth by the incidents of a story, it is then that the 
magic of fiction and poetry is complete, — that they enter in and 
dwell in the secret chambers of the soul, moulding it at will. 
In these moments of deep excitement, must not a bias be given to 
the character, and much be done to elevate and refine, or degrade 
and pollute, those sympathies and sentiments which are the 
sources of much of our virtue and happiness, or our guilt and 
misery ? 

3. The danger is that, in such cases, we do not discriminate 
the distinct action of associated causes. Even in what is pre- 
sented to the senses, we are aware of the power of habitual com- 
bination. An object naturally disagreeable becomes beautiful, 
because we have often seen the sun shine or the dew sparkle 
upon it, or it has been grouped in a scene of peculiar interest. 
Thus the powers of fancy and of taste blend associations in the 
mind, which disguise the original nature of moral qualities. 

4. A liberal generosity, a disinterested self-devotion, a power- 
ful energy, or deep sensibility of soul, a contempt of danger and 
death, are often so connected in stoiy with the most profligate 
principles and manners, that the latter are excused, and even sanc- 
tified, by the former. The impression, which so powerfully seizes 
all the sympathies, is one ; and the ardent youth becomes almost 
ambitious of a character he ought to abhor. So, too, sentiments, 
from which, in their plain form, delicacy would revolt, are insinu- 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



335 



ated with the charms of poetical imagery and expression ; and 
even the coarseness of Fielding is probably less pernicious than 
the seducing refinement of writers like Moore ; whose voluptuous 
sensibility steals upon the heart, and corrupts its purity, as the 
moonbeams, in some climates, are believed to poison the sub- 
stances on which they fall. 

5. But in no productions of modern genius is the reciprocal 
influence of morals and literature more distinctly seen than in 
those of the author of Childe Harold. His character produced 
the poems ; and it cannot be doubted that his poems are adapted 
to produce such a character. His heroes speak a language sup- 
plied not more by imagination than consciousness. They are 
not those machines, that, by a contrivance of the artist, send forth 
a music of their own, — but instruments, through which he 
breathes his very soul, in tones of agonized sensibility, that can- 
not but give a sympathetic impulse to those who hear. The deso- 
late misanthropy of his mind rises, and throws its dark shade over 
his poetry, like one of his own ruined castles ; we feel it to be 
sublime ; but we forget that it is a sublimity it cannot have till it is 
abandoned by every thing that is kind, and peaceful, and happy, 
and its halls are ready to become the haunts of outlaws and 
assassins. 

6. Nor are his more tender and affectionate passages those to 
which we can yield ourselves without a feeling of uneasiness. It 
is not that we can here and there select a proposition formally 
false or pernicious ; but that he leaves an impression unfavorable 
to a healthful state of thought and feeling, peculiarly dangerous to 
the finest minds and most susceptible hearts. They are the 
scene of a summer evening, where all is tender, and beautiful, 
and grand ; but the damps of disease descend with the dews of 
heaven, and the pestilent vapors of night are breathed in with the 
fragrance and balm ; and the delicate and fair are the surest 
victims of the exposure. 

7. Although I have illustrated the moral influence of literature 
principally from its mischiefs, yet it is obvious, if what I have said 
be just, it may be rendered no less powerful as a means of good. 



336 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Is it not true that within the last century a decided and important 
improvement in the moral character of our literature has taken 
place ? and, had Pope and Smollett written at the present day, 
would the former have published the imitations of Chaucer, or the 
latter the adventures of Pickle and Random ? Genius cannot 
now sanctify impurity or want of principle ; and our critics and 
reviewers are exercising jurisdiction not only upon the literary but 
moral blemishes of the authors that come before them. 

8. We observe, with peculiar pleasure, the sentence of just 
indignation which the Edinburgh tribunal has pronounced upon 
Moore, Swift, Goethe, and in general the German sentimentalists. 
Indeed, the fountains of literature into which an enemy has some- 
times infused poison, naturally flow with refreshment and health. 
Cowper and Campbell have led the muses to repose in the bowers 
of religion and virtue ; and Miss Edgeworth has so cautiously 
combined the features of her characters, that the predominant 
expression is ever what it should be : she has shown us, not vices 
ennobled by virtues, but virtues degraded and perverted by their 
union with vices. The success of this lady has been great ; but 
had she availed herself more of the motives and sentiments of 
religion, we think it would have been greater. She has stretched 
forth a powerful hand to the impotent in virtue ; and had she 
added, with the apostle, " In the name of Jesus of Nazareth," 
we should almost have expected miracles from its touch. 

9. The incorporating of religion with morality we mention, in 
the last place, as a means of practical influence. Those we have 
hitherto noticed have a more particular reference to the higher 
and intellectual classes ; but this extends to every order in society. 
It is not the fountain, which plays only in the gardens of the 
palace, but the rain of heaven, which descends alike upon the 
enclosures of the rich and the poor, and refreshes the meanest 
shrub, no less than the fairest flower. 

10. The sages of antiquity seem to have believed that mo- 
rality had nothing to do with religion ; and Christians of the mid- 
dle age, that religion had nothing to do with morality ; but, at the 
present day, we acknowledge how intimate and important is their 






MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 66( 

connection. It is not views of moral fitness, by which the minds 
of men are at first to be affected, but by connecting their duties 
with the feelings and motives, the hopes and fears, of Christianity. 
Both are necessary ; the latter, to prompt and invigorate virtue ; 
the former, to give it the beauty of knowledge and taste. It is 
heat that causes the germ to spring and flourish in the heart ; but 
it is light that imparts verdure to its foliage, and their hues to its 
flowers. 

The Beggar. — Irving. 

1. As we were making the repast above described, and divert- 
ing ourselves with the simple drollery of our squire, a solitary 
beggar approached us, who had almost the look of a pilgrim. He 
was evidently very old, with a gray beard, and supported himself 
on a staff; yet age had not bowed him down ; he was tall and 
erect, and had the wreck of a fine form. He wore a round Anda- 
lusian hat, a sheepskin jacket, and leathern breeches, gaiters, and 
sandals. His dress, though old and patched, was decent, his 
demeanor manly, and he addressed us with that grave courtesy 
that is to be remarked in the lowest Spaniard. 

2. We were in ( a favorable mood for such a visitor; and in a 
freak of capricious charity, gave him some silver, a loaf of fine 
wheaten bread, and a goblet of our choice wine of Malaga. He 
received them thankfully, but without any grovelling tribute of 
gratitude. Tasting the wine, he held it up to the light, with a 
slight beam of surprise in his eye ; then, quaffing it off at a draught, 
il It is many years," said he, " since I have tasted such wine. It 
is a cordial to an old man's heart." Then, looking at the beau- 
tiful wheaten loaf, " Bendito sea tal pan ! " (Blessed be such 
bread !) So saying, he put it in his wallet. We urged him to 
eat it on the spot. " No, senores," replied he, " the wine 1 had 
to drink or leave ; but the bread I must take home to share with 
my family." 

3. Our man Sancho sought our eye, and, reading permission 
there, gave the old man some of the ample fragments of our 

29 



333 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



repast, on condition, however, that he should sit down and make 
a meal. 

4. He accordingly took his seat at some little distance from us, 
and began to eat slowly and with a sobriety and decorum that 
would have become an hidalgo. There was altogether a meas- 
ured manner and a quiet self-possession about the old man, that 
made me think he had seen better days : his language, too, 
though simple, had occasionally something picturesque and almost 
poetical in the phraseology. I set him down for some broken- 
down cavalier. I was mistaken ; it was nothing but the innate 
courtesy of a Spaniard, and the poetical turn of thought and lan- 
guage often to be found in the lowest classes of this clear-witted 
people. For fifty years, he told us, he had been a shepherd ; but 
now he was out of employ, and destitute. " When I was a young 
man," said he, " nothing could harm or trouble me ; I was always 
well, always gay ; but now I am seventy-nine years of age, and 
a beggar, and my heart begins to fail me." 

5. The old man was on his way to his native place, Archidona, 
which was close by, on the summit of a steep and rugged moun- 
tain. He pointed to the ruins of its old Moorish castle. " That 
castle," he said, " was inhabited by a Moorish king, at the time 
of the wars of Granada. Queen Isabella invaded it with a great 
army ; but the king looked down from his castle among the 
clouds, and laughed her to scorn ! Upon this the Virgin appeared 
to the queen, and guided her and her army up a mysterious path 
in the mountains, which had never before been known. When 
the Moor saw her coming, he was astonished, and, springing with 
his horse from a precipice, was dashed to pieces ! The marks 
of his horse's hoofs," said the old man, " are to be seen in the 
margin of the rock to this day. And see, senores, yonder is the 
road by which the queen and her army mounted ; you see it like 
a ribbon up the mountain side ; but the miracle is, that, though it 
can be seen at a distance, when you come near, it disappears ! " 

6. The ideal road to which he pointed was undoubtedly a 
sandy ravine of the mountain, which looked narrow and defined 
at a distance, but became broad and indistinct on an approach. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 339 

7. As the old man's heart warmed with wine and wassail, he 
went on to tell us a story of the buried treasure left under the 
castle by the Moorish king. His own house was next to the 
foundations of the castle. The curate and notary dreamed three 
times of the treasure, and went to work at the place pointed out 
in their dreams. His own son-in-law heard the sound of their 
pickaxes and spades at night. What they found nobody knows ; 
they became suddenly rich, but kept their own secret. Thus the 
old man had once been next door to fortune, but was doomed 
never to get under the same roof. 

8. I have remarked, that the stories of treasure buried by the 
Moors, which prevail throughout Spain, are most current among 
the poorest people. It is thus kind Nature consoles with shadows 
for the lack of substantials. The thirsty man dreams of fountains 
and running streams ; the hungry man, of ideal banquets ; and the 
poor man, of heaps of hidden gold : nothing certainly is more 
magnificent than the imagination of a beggar. 

Washington. — Sparks. 

1. The person of Washington was commanding, graceful, and 
fitly proportioned ; his stature six feet, his chest broad and full, 
his limbs long, and somewhat slender, but well shaped and mus- 
cular. His features were regular and symmetrical, his eyes of a 
light-blue color, and his whole countenance, in its quiet state, was 
grave, placid, and benignant. When alone, or not engaged in 
conversation, he appeared sedate and thoughtful ; but, when his 
attention was excited, his eye kindled quickly and his face beamed 
with animation and intelligence. He was not fluent in speech, 
but what he said was apposite, and listened to with the more inter- 
est as being known to come from the heart. He seldom attempted 
sallies of wit or humor, but no man received more pleasure from 
an exhibition of them by others ; and, although contented in 
seclusion, he sought his chief happiness in society, and partici- 
pated with delight in all its rational and innocent amusements. 
Without austerity on the one hand, or an appearance of conde- 



340 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

scending familiarity on the other, he was affable, courteous, and 
cheerful ; but it has often been remarked, that there was a dignity 
in his person and manner, not easy to be denned, which impressed 
every one that saw him for the first time with an instinctive defer- 
ence and awe. This may have arisen, in part, from a conviction 
of his superiority, as well as from the effect produced by his 
external form and deportment. 

2. The character of his mind was unfolded in the public and 
private acts of his life ; and the proofs of his greatness are seen 
almost as much in the one as the other. The same qualities, 
which raised him to the ascendency he possessed over the will of 
a nation as the commander of armies and chief magistrate, caused 
him to be loved and respected as an individual. Wisdom, judg- 
ment, prudence, and firmness were his predominant traits. No 
man ever saw more clearly the relative importance of things and 
actions, or divested himself more entirely of the bias of personal 
interest, partiality, and prejudice, in discriminating between the 
true and the false, the right and the wrong, in all questions and 
subjects that were presented to him. He deliberated slowly, but 
decided surely ; and, when his decision was once formed, he 
seldom reversed it, and never relaxed from the execution of a 
measure till it was completed. Courage, physical and moral, was 
a part of his nature ; and, whether in battle or in the midst of 
popular excitement, he was fearless of danger and regardless of 
consequences to himself. 

3. His ambition was of that noble kind, which aims to excel 
in whatever it undertakes, and to acquire a power over the hearts 
of men by promoting their happiness and winning their affections. 
Sensitive to the approbation of others, and solicitous to deserve it, 
he made no concessions to gain their applause, either by flattering 
their vanity or yielding to their caprices. Cautious without timid- 
ity, bold without rashness, cool in counsel, deliberate but firm in 
action, clear in foresight, patient under reverses, steady, persever- 
ing, and self-possessed, he met and conquered every obstacle that 
obstructed his path to honor, renown, and success. More confi- 
dent in the uprightness of his intentions than in his resources, he 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 341 

sought knowledge and advice from other men. He chose his 
counsellors with unerring sagacity ; and his quick perception of 
the soundness of an opinion, and of the strong points in an argu- 
ment, enabled him to draw to his aid the best fruits of their 
talents, and the light of their collected wisdom. 

4. His moral qualities were in perfect harmony with those of 
his intellect. Duty was the ruling principle of his conduct ; and 
the rare endowments of his understanding were not more con- 
stantly tasked to devise the best methods of effecting an object, 
than they were to guard the sanctity of conscience. No instance 
can be adduced, in which he was actuated by a sinister motive, or 
endeavored to attain an end by unworthy means. Truth, integ- 
rity, and justice were deeply rooted in his mind ; and nothing 
could rouse his indignation so soon, or so utterly destroy his con- 
fidence, as the discovery of the want of these virtues in any one 
whom he had trusted. Weaknesses, follies, indiscretions, he 
could forgive ; but subterfuge and dishonesty he never forgot, 
rarely pardoned. He was candid and sincere, true to his friends, 
and faithful to all, neither practising dissimulation, descending to 
artifice, nor holding out expectations which he did not intend 
should be realized. His passions were strong, and sometimes 
they broke out with vehemence ; but he had the power of check- 
ing them in an instant. Perhaps self-control was the most remark- 
able trait of his character. It was in part the effect of discipline ; 
yet he seems by nature to have possessed this power to a degree 
which has been denied to other men. 

5. A Christian in faith and practice, he was habitually devout. 
His reverence for religion is seen in his example, his public com- 
munications, and his private writings. He uniformly ascribed 
his successes to the beneficent agency of the Supreme Being. 
Charitable and humane, he was liberal to the poor, and kind to 
those in distress. As a husband, son, and brother, he was tender 
and affectionate. Without vanity, ostentation, or pride, he never 
spoke of himself or his actions, unless required by circumstances 
which concerned the public interests. As he was free from envy, 
so he had the good fortune to escape the envy of others, by stand- 

29* 



342 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

ing on an elevation which none could hope to attain. If he had 
one passion more strong than another, it was love of his country. 
The purity and ardor of his patriotism were commensurate with 
the greatness of its object. Love of country in him was invested 
with the sacred obligation of a duty ; and from the faithful dis- 
charge of this duty he never swerved for a moment, either in 
thought or deed, through the whole period of his eventful 
career. 

6. Such are some of the traits in the character of Washington 
which have acquired for him the love and veneration of mankind. 
If they are not marked with the brilliancy, extravagance, and 
eccentricity, which in other men have excited the astonishment 
of the world, so neither are they tarnished by the follies nor dis- 
graced by the crimes of those men. It is the happy combination 
of rare talents and qualities, the harmonious union of the intel- 
lectual and moral powers, rather than the dazzling splendor of 
any one trait, which constitute the grandeur of his character. If 
the title of great man ought to be reserved for Jiim who cannot 
be charged with an indiscretion or a vice, who spent his life in 
establishing the independence, the glory, and durable prosperity 
of his country, who succeeded in all that he undertook, and whose 
successes were never won at the expense of honor, justice, integ- 
rity, or by the sacrifice of a single principle, — this title will not 
be denied to Washington. 

Lines written in a Churchyard. — Knowles. 

1. Me thinks it is good to be here : 

If thou wilt, let us build ; — but for whom ? 

No Elias and Moses appear, 
But the shadows of us that encompass the gloom, 
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. 

2. Shall we build to Ambition ? O, no ! 
Affrighted he shrinketh away ; 

For see ! they would fix him below 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 343 

In a small, narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, 
To the meanest of reptiles a den and a prey. 

3. To beauty ? Ah, no ! — she forgets 
The charms which she wielded before — 

Nor knows the foul worm, that he frets 
The skin, which, but yesterday, fools could adore, 
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. 

4. Shall we build to the purple of Pride — 
The trappings which dizzen the proud ? 

Alas ! they are all laid aside — 
And here's neither dross nor adornment allowed, 
But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud ! 

5. To Riches ? Alas ! 'tis in vain — 
Who hid, in their turns have been hid — 

The treasures are squandered again — 
And here in the grave are all metals forbid, 
But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid. 

6. To the pleasures which mirth can afford — 
. The revel, the laugh, and the jeer ? 

Ah ! here is a plentiful board ; 
But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, 
And none but the worm is a reveller here. 

7. Shall we build to Affection and Love ? . 
Ah, no ! they have withered and died, 

Or fled with the spirit above. 
Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, 
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 

8. Unto Sorrow ? The dead cannot grieve : 
Not a sob, not a sigh, meets mine ear, 

Which compassion itself could relieve ! 



344 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Ah ! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, nor fear ; 
Peace, Peace is the watchword, the only one here. 

9. Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow ? 
Ah, no ! for his empire is known, 

And here there are trophies enow ! 
Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone, 
Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown ! 

10. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, 
And look for the sleepers around us to rise ; 

The second to Faith, which insures it fulfilled ; 
And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, 
Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. 



Prince Arthur. — Shakspeaee. 

Enter Hubert and two Attendants. 

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

1 At. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — 

[Exeunt Attendants. 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 

Enter Arthur. 
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. 
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
Arth. Mercy on me ! 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 345 

Methinks nobody should be sad but I : 

Yet 1 remember, when I was in France, 

Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 

Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 

So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 

I should be as merry as the day is long ; 

And so I would be here, but that I doubt 

My uncle practises more harm to me : 

He is afraid of me, and I of him : 

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 

No, indeed is't not ; and I would to Heaven 

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day : 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. 
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How now, 
foolish rheum ! [Aside. 

Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 

Out at mine eyes, in tender, womanish tears. 

Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache, 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had ; a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again ; 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 



346 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 

Still and anon cheered up the heavy time, 

Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief ? 

Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 

Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 

But you at your sick service had a prince. 

Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 

And call it cunning. Do, an if you will : 

If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, 

Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? — 

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 

So much as frown on you ? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arih. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench his fiery indignation, 
Even in the matter of mine innocence ; 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. Do as I bid you do. [Stamps 

Reenter Attendants, with cord, irons, SfC. 

Arih. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous rough ? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For Heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



347 



And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 

I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 

Nor look upon the iron angerly : 

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 

Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 

1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exeunt. 

Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O Heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, . 
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
Being create for comfort, to be used 
In undeserved extremes : see else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 



348 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : 
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes ; 
And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, 
Snatch at his master that doth tar him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office : only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! All this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; 
Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O Heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence ; no more. Go closely in with me ; 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

Blessings of Domestic Life. — J. S. Buckminster. 

1. Let me lead you, last of all, back to your families, and 
refresh you with the sight of the blessings of your domestic life. 
Indeed, if I were to search for a spot where you could best 
observe the effect of the blessings we have already enumerated, 
and best feel the peculiar happiness of your social condition, I 
should only open the door to your own firesides, and place you in 
the circle of your children and your friends. There it is, indeed, 
that you ought to enjoy the united influences of all the other 
advantages we have mentioned. If you are not happy there, the 




MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 349 

fault is not in your circumstances, but in your dispositions. For 
when we consider the enviable state of the domestic relations 
among us, of husband and wife, of parents and children, we are 
at a loss to suggest any improvement, except in the use of these 
advantages. 

2. Notwithstanding the rapid encroachment of luxury, it has 
not yet so corrupted our modes of life under the pretence of refin- 
ing them, that parents are daily separated from their children. 
You may, at any time, collect them around you, refresh your- 
selves with their innocence, watch their budding talents and 
virtues, and enjoy their happiness. The intercourse between you 
and your offspring is not disturbed by any foolish customs and 
formalities ; no rights of primogeniture enter, to kindle jealou- 
sies and coldness. As they grow up successively, they gradually 
pass into your companions, your friends, and at last your counsel- 
lors — perhaps your stay and consolation. 

3. So abundant are our means of living, that your children are 
not driven unprovided for from the paternal roof, to seek else- 
where a precarious support. No officer of despotism bursts open 
your doors, to drag the reluctant youth to be sacrificed on the field 
of battle, nor does every mail bring you intelligence, which makes 
your heart bleed, of some new exposures or new sufferings which 
they are called to endure. So various and accessible are our 
means of education, also, that parents may always have some 
new pleasures in expectation from the improvement of their 
children. Soon they become qualified to partake of your own 
intellectual pursuits. Their curiosity keeps yours awake, their 
improvement rewards you ; and the domestic circle every day 
brightens with new accessions in intelligence and pleasure. 

4. Thus they grow up with you at home ; and here, at least, 
this blessed name yet expresses a reality, a substantial good, a 
sanctuary, a refuge from the troubles of life, the very centre of our 
national happiness. And when the fear and love of God dwell 
under your roofs ; when his worship purifies and makes holy these 
domestic enjoyments ; when your prayers, as they ascend morning 
and evening, draw closer the sacred ties of parent and child, 

30 



350 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

brother and sister But I need not dwell on the minutiae of 

your blessings ; I need not paint, what your hearts, if they are 
rightly attempered, will represent to you with more vividness and 
reality. Go home then, — for you have a home, — and tell your 
children what great things God has done for us. 

5. This recital of our blessings, however grateful it may be to 
the mind, is yet attended with two considerations, which press 
upon our attention. The first is, How little have we ourselves 
contributed to these advantages ! They seem in truth to be the 
gifts of Providence alone, for we can hardly trace them to any 
positive causes. When we reflect upon our social and domestic 
lot, one thing is always evident, — that if all the good we find can 
be traced to the care of a most gracious Providence, all the evil to 
which we are exposed may be traced directly to those passions 
which the most favorable state of society cannot always suppress, 
to those corruptions which grow, alas ! and ripen under the very 
sunshine of our prosperity. The other consideration, which may 
make us all tremble, is, How long shall this state of prosperity 
last ? Has God given us a pledge of uninterrupted security and 
good fortune ? or does not its continuance depend much upon 
ourselves ? If the cup of our prosperity intoxicates us, will it not 
fall at last from our hands, and be dashed in pieces ? 

6. My friends, let us think, before we part, of the duties which 
our very happiness imposes upon us. Ought we not, first of all, 
most gratefully and humbly to adore the distinguishing goodness 
of God ? Perhaps we have hitherto overlooked the real founda- 
tion of our happiness ; perhaps, if we have been sensible of the 
good, we have not thought of the Author. We have entered this 
garden of God, and carelessly cropped the flowers with which it 
is filled, and thought them planted only for our gratification. 
This is not the condition on which any of God's gifts are be- 
stowed. 

Demosthenes. — North American Review. 

1. The most prominent feature in his orations, as has been 
justly remarked, is argument. He never declaims till he has 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES, 351 

first reasoned ; he seems to disdain to inflame our passions till he 
has overpowered our understanding. Few authors can bear a 
comparison with him in the originality and ingenuity of his argu- 
ments ; in their close connection with the point proposed and with 
each other ; in the succinctness, perspicuity, and energy with 
which they are stated ; in the sagacity and generalship, — if the 
term may be allowed, — with which he directs his force to those 
points where his adversary is most vulnerable, and himself most 
powerful ; in all those qualities, in short, which constitute a pow- 
erful and accomplished logician. 

2. But though an acute and close, he is by no means a dry and 
cold reasoner ; he bears no resemblance to those who state their 
sentiments with the calmness, as well as the precision, of mathe- 
matical demonstration. His argument seems to flow from his 
heart, as well as his intellect, and is equally impassioned with the 
declamation of other orators. His declamation, on the other 
hand, has much of the closeness and terseness which we find dis- 
played in the ablest arguments. We perceive in it nothing vague 
or extravagant, nothing florid or redundant, nothing strained or 
ostentatious ; it always seems to enforce and illustrate, as well as 
to ornament, the arguments to which it refers, and appears to be 
introduced not only naturally but necessarily. 

3. It is scarcely possible, however, to divide the speeches of 
Demosthenes, like those of most other orators, into argumentative 
and declamatory passages. Logic and rhetoric are blended 
together, from the beginning to the end ; the speaker, while 
always clear and profound, is always rapid and impassioned. 
The vivid feeling, displayed at intervals by other orators, bursts 
forth in Demosthenes with every sentence. We are forcibly 
reminded of the description of lightning in Homer : — 

" By turns one flash succeeds as one expires, 
And heaven flames thick with momentary fires." 

4. Were we called upon to state, what more than any thing 
else distinguished Demosthenes from all other orators, we should 
answer, his constant and complete forgetfulness of himself in his 



352 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

subject. His object, in his most celebrated orations, (with the 
exception of that on the Crown,) was to thwart and overthrow the 
ambitious projects of Philip of Macedon, to rouse his countrymen 
to a course of conduct worthy of themselves and their illustrious 
ancestry. 

5. That Philip was aiming at the sovereignty of Greece ; that 
he feared and hated the Athenians, as the irreconcilable oppo- 
nents to his schemes of aggrandizement ; that he was hostile to 
the city of Athens, to every thing which it contained, to the very 
ground on which it stood, but to nothing so much as its free gov- 
ernment, — these were the ideas which seemed to penetrate and 
absorb the very soul of Demosthenes, and which he put forth all 
his strength in impressing on the minds of his hearers. 

6. His exordium, though highly finished, is generally brief; he 
throws himself into the midst of his subject, and seems to have 
neither time nor thought for any thing besides. To gain the 
assent, and not the applause, of the audience, is his single object : 
his aim seems to be to direct the councils of Athens, utterly re- 
gardless of the credit which success may reflect on himself; and 
he appears to think as little of the skill which he shall display as 
an orator, as he who is fighting for his life thinks of the grace 
which he shall exhibit in the management of his weapons. 

7. When we consider that it is the well-known property of 
this enthusiastic sincerity to communicate itself from the speaker 
to his audience ; that, connected even with moderate abilities, it 
seldom fails to command a respectful attention ; that it is of itself 
often sufficient to give a temporary interest to the most airy extrav- 
agance, — it requires little reflection to perceive what effects it 
must produce, when united with the talents of Demosthenes. By 
no author is he excelled in the power of engaging and rivetting 
our attention. We feel ourselves in the grasp of a giant, and are 
hurried along in the course of his argument with unceasing and 
breathless interest. 

8. While, however, we dwell thus forcibly on the entire devo- 
tion of Demosthenes to his great purpose, we would not be under- 
stood to imply that his orations are devoid of all remarks of 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 353 

general application. He looks intensely on his subject, but it is 
with the eye of a consummate statesman ; his remarks centre in 
a single point, but they are drawn from a wide circumference. 
Almost every one of his speeches abounds in maxims of the most 
profound kind, and the most universal interest, not formally 
ushered forth in the garb of philosophy, but, like every thing 
which he utters, springing naturally from his subject, and bearing 
strongly upon it. 

9. That the mind soon loses its dignity if given up to low 
and grovelling pursuits ; that it is the leading duty of a true patriot 
never to fear responsibility ; that no community can ever be great, 
if it suffer its conduct to be entirely determined by external cir- 
cumstances ; that it is for him who has received benefits to cherish 
them in his memory, while the giver should be the first to forget 
them, — these, and numerous other political and moral truths, of 
equal moment, are all enforced with the greatest clearness and 
vigor by Demosthenes. We consider him, in short, as the most 
striking illustration of the rule subsequently laid down by Horace, 
in the trite passage, " Ars est celare artem." His eloquence 
always strikes us as the true eloquence of nature, the language 
of a strong mind under high excitement. 

The Murdered Traveller. — Bryant. 

1. When Spring to woods and wastes around 

Brought bloom and joy again, 
The murdered traveller's bones were found, 
Far down a narrow glen. 

2. The fragrant birch, above him, hung 

Her tassels in the sky ; 
And many a vernal blossom sprung, 
And nodded, careless, by. 

3. The red bird warbled, as he wrought 

His hanging nest o'erhead, 
30* " 



354 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

And fearless, near the fatal spot, 
Her young the partridge led. 

4. But there was weeping far away, 

And gentle eyes, for him, 
With watching many an anxious day, 
Grew sorrowful and dim. 

5. They little knew, who loved him so, 

The fearful death he met, 
When shouting o'er the desert snow, 
Unarmed, and hard beset ; — 

6. Nor how, when round the frosty pole 

The northern dawn was red, 
The mountain wolf and wildcat stole 
To banquet on the dead ; — 

7. Nor how, when strangers found his bones, 

They dressed the hasty bier, 
And marked his grave with nameless stones, 
Unmoistened by a tear. 

8. But long they looked, and feared, and wept, 

Within his distant home, 
And dreamed, and started as they slept, 
For joy that he was come. 

9. So long they looked — but never spied 

His welcome step again, 
Nor knew the fearful death he died 
Far down that narrow glen. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 355 

Roderick Dhu and Malcolm. — Scott. 

Twice through the hall the chieftain strode ; 
The wavings of his tartans broad, 
And darkened brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill demon of the night, 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way ; 
But, unrequited love, thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 
At length the hand of Douglas wrung ; 
While eyes that mocked at tears before, 
With bitter drops were running o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly through the hall ; 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
I'll might the gentle Ellen brook. 
She rose, and to her side there came, 
To aid her parting steps, the Graeme. 
Then Roderick from the Douglas broke ; — 
As flashes flame through sable smoke, 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, 
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 
So the deep anguish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air — 
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid ; 
" Back, beardless boy ! " he sternly said, 



356 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 

The lesson I so lately taught ? 

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 

Thank thou for punishment delayed." 

Eager as greyhound on his game, 

Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grseme ; 

" Perish my name, if aught afford 

Its chieftain safety, save his sword ! " 

Thus, as they strove, their desperate hand 

Griped to the dagger or the brand ; 

And death had been — But Douglas rose, 

And thrust between the struggling foes 

His giant strength . . . . " Chieftains, forego ! 

I hold the first who strikes, my foe. 

Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 

What ! is the Douglas fallen so far, 

His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 

Of such dishonorable broil ? " 

Sullen and slowly they unclasp, 

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp ; 

And each upon his rival glared, 

With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 

Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung ; 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword, 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word : 
" Rest safe till morning ; pity 'twere 
Such cheeks should feel the midnight air ! 
Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell, 
Nor lackey, with his free-born clan, 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan- Alpine know, 
Thou canst our strength and passes show. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 357 

Malise, what, ho ! " — his henchman came ; — 

" Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 

Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, 

" Fear nothing for thy favorite hold. 

The spot an angel deigned to grace, 

Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place : 

Thy churlish courtesy for those 

Reserve, who feel to be thy foes. 

As safe to me the mountain way 

At midnight, as in blaze of day, 

Though, with his boldest at his back, 

Even Roderick Dhu beset the track." 

Address to Rev. E. Carey. — R. Hall. 

1. Few things more powerfully tend to enlarge the mind than 
conversing with great objects and engaging in great pursuits. 
That the object you are pursuing is entitled to that appellation 
will not be questioned by him who reflects on the infinite advan- 
tages derived from Christianity to every nation and clime where 
it has prevailed in its purity, and that the prodigious superiority 
which Europe possesses over Asia and Africa is chiefly to be 
ascribed to this cause. It is the possession of a religion which 
comprehends the seeds of endless improvement ; which maintains 
an incessant struggle with whatever is barbarous, selfish, or inhu- 
man ; which, by unveiling futurity, clothes morality with the sanc- 
tion of a divine law, and harmonizes utility and virtue in every 
combination of events, and in every stage of existence — a religion 
which, by affording the most just and sublime conceptions of the 
Deity, and of the moral relations of man, has given birth at once 
to the loftiest speculation and the most childlike humility, uniting 
the inhabitants of the globe into one family, and in the bonds of 
a common salvation. It is this religion which, rising upon us like 
a finer sun, has quickened moral vegetation, and replenished 
Europe with talents, virtues, and exploits, which, in spite of its 
physical disadvantages, have rendered it a paradise, the delight 



358 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

and wonder of the world. An attempt to propagate this religion 
among the natives of Hindostan may perhaps be stigmatized as 
visionary and romantic ; but to enter the lists of controversy with 
those who would deny it to be great and noble, would be a degra- 
dation to reason. 

2. On these principles the cause of missions has recently been 
sustained in parliament, and the propriety and expedience of 
attempting the propagation of Christianity in India demonstrated 
by arguments and considerations suited to the meridian of such 
assemblies. We feel ourselves highly indebted to those distin- 
guished senators who exerted their eloquence on that occasion, 
and have no hesitation in asserting, that a more wise and magnan- 
imous measure was never adopted by an enlightened legislature, 
than that of facilitating the communication of Christian knowledge 
to the subjects of our Eastern empire. As a political measure, 
nothing more unexceptionable or beneficial can be conceived. It 
is not in this light, however, we would wish you to regard your 
present undertaking. What may satisfy the views of a statesman 
ought not to satisfy a Christian minister. It is the business of the 
former to project for this world ; of the latter, for eternity. The 
former proposes to improve the advantages and to mitigate the 
evils of life ; the latter, the conquest of death and the achieve- 
ment of immortality- They proceed in the same direction, it is 
true, as far as they go ; but the one proceeds infinitely farther 
than the other. 

3. In the views of the most enlightened statesmen, compared 
to those of a Christian minister, there is a littleness and limitation 
which is not to be imputed in one case as a moral imperfection, 
nor in the other as a personal merit ; the difference arising purely 
from the disparity in the subjects upon which they respectively 
speculate. Should you be asked, on your arrival in India, as it is 
veiy probable you will, what there is in Christianity which ren- 
ders it so inestimable in your eyes, that you judged it fit to under- 
take so long, dangerous, and expensive a voyage for the purpose 
of imparting it, — you will answer, without hesitation, it is the 
power of God to salvation ; nor will any view of it short of this, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 359 

or the inculcation of it for any inferior purpose, enable it to 
produce even those moralizing and civilizing effects it is so 
powerfully adapted to accomplish. 

4. Christianity will civilize, it is true, but it is only when it is 
allowed to develop the energies by which it sanctifies. Chris- 
tianity will inconceivably ameliorate the present condition of 
being, — who doubts it? Its universal prevalence, not in the 
name, but in reality, will convert this world into a semi-paradi- 
siacal state ; but it is only while it is permitted to prepare its 
inhabitants for a better. Let her be urged to forget her celestial 
origin and destiny, to forget that she came from God, and returns 
to God ; and, whether she is employed by the artful and enter- 
prising, as the instrument of establishing a spiritual empire and 
dominion over mankind, or by the philanthropist as the means of 
promoting their civilization and improvement, she resents the foul 
indignity, claps her wings and takes her flight, leaving nothing 
but a base and sanctimonious hypocrisy in her room. 

5. Preach it then, my dear brother, with a constant recollection 
that such is its character and aim. Preach it with a perpetual 
view to eternity, and with the simplicity and affection with which 
you would address your dearest friends, were they assembled 
round your dying bed. While others are ambitious to form the 
citizen of earth, be it yours to train him for heaven ; to raise up 
the temple of God from among the ancient desolations ; to con- 
tribute your part towards the formation and perfection of that 
eternal society which will flourish in inviolable purity and order, 
when all human associations shall be dissolved, and the princes 
of this world shall come to nought. In the pursuit of these 
objects, let it be your ambition to tread in the footsteps of a Brain- 
erd and a Schwartz ; I may add, of your excellent relative, with 
whom we are happy in perceiving you to possess a congeniality 
of character, not less than an affinity of blood. 

6. But should you succeed beyond your utmost hope, expect 
not to escape the ridicule of the ungodly or the censure of the 
world ; but be content to sustain that sort of reputation, and run 
that sort of career invariably allotted to the Christian missionary ; 



360 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

where, agreeably to the experience of St. Paul, obscurity and 
notoriety, admiration and scorn, sorrows and consolations, attach- 
ments the most tender and opposition the most violent, are inter- 
changeably mingled. 

7. But whatever be the sentiments of the world, respecting 
which you will indulge no excessive solicitude, your name will 
be precious in India, your memory dear to multitudes, who will 
reverence in you the instrument of their eternal salvation ; and 
how much more satisfaction will accrue from the consciousness 
of this, than from the loudest human applause, your own reflec- 
tions will determine. At that awful moment when you are called 
to bid a final adieu to the world, and to look into eternity, — when 
the hopes, fears, and agitations which sublunary objects shall have 
occasioned, will subside like a feverish dream, or a vision of the 
night, — the certainty of belonging to the number of the saved will 
be the only consolation ; and when to this is joined the conviction 
of having contributed to enlarge that number, your joy will 
be full. 

8. You will be conscious of having conferred a benefit on 
your fellow-creatures, you know not precisely what, but of such 
a nature that it will require all the illumination of eternity to 
measure its dimensions and ascertain its value. Having followed 
Christ in the regeneration, in the preparatory labors accompany- 
ing the renovation of mankind, you will rise to an elevated sta- 
tion in a world where the scantiest portion is a far more exceeding 
and eternal weight of glory, and a conspicuous place will be 
assigned you in that unchanging firmament, w T here those who 
have turned many to righteousness shall shine as the stars forever 
and ever. 

Right of Public Discussion. — R. Hall. 

1. However some may affect to dread controversy, it can never 
be of ultimate disadvantage to the interests of truth or the happi- 
ness of mankind. Where it is indulged in its full extent, a multi- 
tude of ridiculous opinions will no doubt be obtruded upon the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 361 

public ; but any ill influence they may produce cannot continue 
long, as they are sure to be opposed with at least equal ability, and 
that superior advantage which is ever attendant on truth. The 
colors with which wit or eloquence may have adorned a false sys- 
tem will gradually die away, sophistry be detected, and every 
thing estimated at length according to its true value. Publica- 
tions, besides, like every thing else that is human, are of a mixed 
nature, where truth is often blended with falsehood, and important 
hints suggested in the midst of much impertinent or pernicious 
matter ; nor is there any way of separating the precious from the 
vile but by tolerating the whole. Where the right of unlimited 
inquiry is exerted, the human faculties will be upon the advance ; 
where it is relinquished, they will be of necessity at a stand, and 
will probably decline. 

2. If we have recourse to experience, — that kind of enlarged 
experience in particular which history furnishes, — we shall not 
be apt to entertain any violent alarm at the greatest liberty of dis- 
cussion : we shall there see that to this we are indebted for those 
improvements in arts and sciences which have meliorated in so 
great a degree the condition of mankind. The middle ages, as 
they are called, the darkest period of which we have any particu- 
lar accounts, were remarkable for two things — the extreme 
ignorance that prevailed, and an excessive veneration for received 
opinions ; circumstances which, having been always united, oper- 
ate on each other, it is plain, as cause and effect. 

3. The whole compass of science was in those times subject to 
restraint ; every new opinion was looked upon as dangerous. To 
affirm the globe we inhabit to be round was deemed heresy, and 
for asserting its motion the immortal Galileo was confined in the 
prisons of the Inquisition. Yet it is remarkable, so little are the 
human faculties fitted for restraint, that its utmost rigor was never 
able to effect a thorough unanimity, or to preclude the most alarm- 
ing discussions and controversies. For no sooner was one point 
settled than another was started ; and as the articles on which 
men professed to differ were always extremely few and subtile, 
they came the more easily into contact, and their animosities 

31 






362 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

were the more violent and concentrated. The shape of the 
tonsure, or manner in which a monk should shave his head, would 
then throw a whole kingdom into convulsions. 

4. In proportion as the world has become more enlightened, 
this unnatural policy of restraint has retired, the sciences it has 
entirely abandoned, and has taken its last stand on religion and 
politics. The first of these was long considered of a nature so 
peculiarly sacred, that every attempt to alter it, or to impair the 
reverence for its received institutions, was regarded, under the 
name of heresy, as a crime of the first magnitude. Yet, danger- 
ous as free inquiry may have been looked upon when extended to 
the principles of religion, there is no department where it was 
more necessary, or its interference more decidedly beneficial. 
By nobly daring to exert it when all the powers on earth were 
combined in its suppression, did Luther accomplish that reforma- 
tion which drew forth primitive Christianity, long hidden and con- 
cealed under a load of abuses, to the view of an awakened and 
astonished world. 

5. So great is the force of truth when it has once gained the 
attention, that all the arts and policy of the court of Rome, aided 
throughout every part of Europe by a veneration for antiquity, 
the prejudices of the vulgar, and the cruelty of despots, were 
fairly baffled and confounded by the opposition of a solitary monk. 
And had this principle of free inquiry been permitted in succeed- 
ing times to have full scope, Christianity would at this period have 
been much better understood, and the animosity of sects consider- 
ably abated. 

6. Religious toleration has never been complete even in Eng- 
land ; but having prevailed more here than perhaps in any other 
country, there is no place where the doctrines of religion have 
been set in so clear a light, or its truth so ably defended. The 
writings of Deists have contributed much to this end. Whoever 
will compare the late defences of Christianity by Locke, Butler, or 
Clark, with those of the ancient apologists, will discern in the for- 
mer far more precision and an abler method of reasoning than in 
the latter ; which must be attributed chiefly to the superior spirit of 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 363 

inquiry by which modern times are distinguished. Whatever 
alarm, then, may have been taken at the liberty of discussion, 
religion, it is plain, hath been a gainer by it ; its abuses corrected, 
and its divine authority settled on a firmer basis than ever. 

The Same, continued. 

1. Though I have taken the liberty of making these prelim- 
inary remarks on the influence of free inquiry in general, what I 
have more immediately in view is to defend its exercise in rela- 
tion to government. This being an institution purely human, one 
would imagine it were the proper province for freedom of discus- 
sion in its utmost extent. It is surely just that every one should 
have a right to examine those measures by which the happiness 
of all may be affected. The control of the public mind over the 
conduct of ministers, exerted through the medium of the press, 
has been regarded by the best writers, both in our country and on 
the continent, as the main support of our liberties. While this 
remains, we cannot be enslaved ; when it is impaired or dimin- 
ished, we shall soon cease to be free. 

2. Under pretence of its being seditious to express any disap- 
probation of the form of our government, the most alarming 
attempts are made to wrest the liberty of the press out of our 
hands. It is far from being my intention to set up a defence of 
republican principles, as I am persuaded whatever imperfections 
may attend the British constitution, it is competent to all the ends 
of government, and the best adapted of any to the actual situation 
of this kingdom. Yet I am convinced there is no crime in being 
a republican, and that while he obeys the laws, every man has a 
right to entertain what sentiments he pleases on our form of gov- 
ernment, and to discuss this with the same freedom as any other 
topic. In proof of this, I shall beg the reader's attention to the 
following arguments. 

3. We may apply to this point in particular the observation 
that has been made on the influence of free inquiry in general, 
that it will issue in the firmer establishment of truth and the over- 



364 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



throw of error. Every thing that is really excellent will bear 
examination ; it will even invite it ; and the more narrowly it is 
surveyed, to the more advantage it will appear. Is our constitu- 
tion a good one ? It will gain in our esteem by the severest 
inquiry. Is it bad ? Then its imperfections should be laid open, 
and exposed. Is it, as is generally confessed, of a mixed nature, 
excellent in theory, but defective in its practice ? Freedom of dis- 
cussion will be still requisite to point out the nature and source of 
its corruptions, and apply suitable remedies. If our constitution 
be that perfect model of excellence it is represented, it may 
boldly appeal to the reason of an enlightened age, and need not 
rest on the support of an implicit faith. 

4. Government is the creature of the people, and that which 
they have created they surely have a right to examine. The 
great Author of nature, having placed the right of dominion in no 
particular hands, hath left every point relating to it to be settled 
by the consent and approbation of mankind. In spite of the 
attempts of sophistry to conceal the origin of political right, it 
must inevitably rest at length on the acquiescence of the peoople. 
In the case of individuals, it is extremely plain. If one man should 
overwhelm another with superior force, and, after completely sub- 
duing him under the name of government, transmit him in this 
condition to his heirs, every one would exclaim against such an 
act of injustice. But whether the object of this oppression be one 
or a million, can make no difference in its nature, the idea of 
equity having no relation to that of numbers. 

5. Mr. Burke, with some other authors, are aware that an 
original right of dominion can only be explained by resolving it 
into the will of the people, yet contend that it becomes inalienable 
and independent by length of time and prescription. This fatal 
mistake appears to me to have arisen from confounding the right 
of dominion with that of private property. Possession for a cer- 
tain time, it is true, vests in the latter a complete right, or there 
would be no end to vexatious claims ; not to mention that it is of 
no consequence to society where property lies, provided its regu- 
lations be clear and its possession undisturbed. For the same 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 365 

reason, it is of the essence of private property to be held for the 
sole use of the owner, with liberty to employ it in what way he 
pleases consistent with the safety of the community. 

6. But the right of dominion has none of the qualities that 
distinguish private possession. It is never indifferent to the com- 
munity, in whose hands it is lodged ; nor is it intended in any 
degree for the benefit of those who conduct it. Being derived 
from the will of the people explicit or implied, and existing 
solely for their use, it can no more become independent of that 
will than water can rise above its source. But if we allow the 
people are the true origin of political power, it is absurd to 
require them to resign the right of discussing any question that 
can arise either upon its form or its measures, as this would put it 
forever out of their power to revoke the trust which they have 
placed in the hands of their rulers. 

7. If it be a crime for a subject of Great Britain to express his 
disapprobation of that form of government under which he lives, 
the same conduct must be condemned in the inhabitant of any 
other country. Perhaps it will be said a distinction ought to be 
made on account of the superior excellence of the British consti- 
tution. This superiority I am not disposed to contest, yet cannot 
allow it to be a proper reply, as it takes for granted that which is 
supposed to be a matter of debate and inquiry. Let a govern- 
ment be ever so despotic, it is a chance if those who share in the 
administration are not loud in proclaiming its excellence. 

8. Go into Turkey, and the pachas of the provinces will prob- 
ably tell you that the Turkish government is the most perfect in 
the world. If the excellence of a constitution, then, is assigned 
as the reason that none should be permitted to censure it, who, I 
ask, is to determine on this its excellence ? If you reply, every 
man's own reason will determine, you concede the very point I 
am endeavoring to establish, — the liberty of free inquiry ; if you 
reply, our rulers, you admit a principle that equally applies to 
every government in the world, and will lend no more support to 
the British constitution than to that of Turkey or Algiers. 

31* 



366 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Uses of the Atmosphere. — British Quarterly Review. 

l.-.The analytical method we have followed in studying the 
chemistry of the atmosphere, has had the necessary advantage of 
compelling us to pursue it bit by bit, and, as it were, piecemeal. 
We must now try to conceive of the atmosphere as a whole, and 
to realize clearly the idea of its unity. And what a whole ! what 
a unity it is ! It possesses properties so wonderful, and so dissim- 
ilar, that we are slow to believe that they can exist together. It 
rises above us with its cathedral dome, arching towards that 
heaven of which it is the most familiar synonyme and symbol. It 
floats around us like that grand object which the apostle John saw 
in his visions — " a sea of glass like unto crystal." So massive 
is it, that when it begins to stir, it tosses about great ships like 
playthings, and sweeps cities and forests, like snowflakes, to 
destruction before it. And yet it is so mobile, that we have lived 
years in it before we can be persuaded that it exists at all, and 
the great bulk of mankind never realize the truth that they are 
bathed in an ocean of air. Its weight is so enormous, that iron 
shivers before it like glass ; yet a soap-bell sails through it with 
impunity, and the tiniest insect waves it aside with its wing. 

2. It ministers lavishly to all the senses. We touch it not, but 
it touches us. Its warm south winds bring back color to the 
pale face of the invalid ; its cool west winds refresh the fevered 
brow and make the blood mantle in our cheeks ; even its north 
blasts brace into new vigor the hardened children of our rugged 
clime. The eye is indebted to it for all the magnificence of sun- 
rise, the full brightness of midday, the chastened radiance of the 
gloaming, and the " clouds that cradle near the setting sun." But 
for it, the rainbow would want its " triumphal arch," and the 
winds would not send their fleecy messengers on errands round 
the heavens. The cold ether would not shed its snow-feathers on 
the earth, nor would drops of dew gather on the flowers. The 
kindly rain would never fall, nor hailstorm, nor fog diversify the 
face of the sky. Our naked globe would turn its tanned, unshad- 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 367 

owed forehead to the sun, and one dreary, monotonous blaze of 
light and heat dazzle and burn up all things. 

3. Were there no atmosphere, the evening sun would in a 
moment set, and, without warning, plunge the earth in darkness. 
But the air keeps in her hand a sheaf of his rays, and lets them 
slip but slowly through her fingers ; so that the shadows of even- 
ing gather by degrees, and the flowers have time to bow their 
heads ; and each creature space to find a place of rest, and to 
nestle to repose. In the morning, the gairish sun would at one 
bound burst from the bosom of night, and blaze above the hori- 
zon ; but the air watches for his coming, and sends at first but 
one little ray to announce his approach, and then another, and by 
and by a handful, and so gently draws aside the curtains of night, 
and slowly lets the light fall on the face of the sleeping earth, till 
her eyelids open, and, like man, she goeth forth again to her labor 
till the evening. 

4. To the ear it brings all the sounds that pulsate through it — 
the grave eloquence of men ; the sweet songs and happy laughter 
of women ; the prayers and praises which they utter to God ; the 
joyous carols of birds ; the hum of insect wings ; the whisper of 
the winds when they breathe gently, and their laughter and wild 
choruses when they shriek in their wrath ; the plashing of foun- 
tains ; the murmur of rivers ; the roaring of cataracts ; the rus- 
tling of forests ; the trumpet-note of the thunder ; and the deep 
solemn voice of the everlasting sea. Had there been no atmos- 
phere, melody nor harmony would not have been, nor any music. 
The earth might have made signs to the eye, like one bereft of 
speech, and have muttered from her depths inarticulate sounds ; 
but nature would have been voiceless, and we should have gazed 
only on shore " where all was dumb." To the last of the senses 
the air is not less bountiful than to the others. It gathers to itself 
all perfumes and fragrance ; from bean-fields in flower, and 
meadows of new-mown hay ; from hills covered with wild thyme, 
and gardens of roses. The breezes, those " heavy-winged 
thieves," waft them hither and thither, and the sweet south 
wind " breathes upon bands of violets, stealing and giving odor." 



368 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

5. Such is a faint outline of the atmosphere. The sea has 
been called the pathway of the nations, but it is a barrier as well 
as a bond between them. It is only the girdling and encircling 
air which flows above and around all, that makes the " whole 
world kin." The carbonic acid with which our breathing fills the 
air, to-morrow will be speeding north and south, and striving to 
make the tour of the world. The date-trees that grow round the 
fountains of the Nile will drink it in by their leaves ; the cedars 
of Lebanon will take of it, to add to their stature ; the cocoa-nuts 
of Tahiti will grow riper upon it ; and the palms and bananas of 
Japan change it into flowers. 

6. The oxygen we are breathing was distilled for us some short 
time ago by the magnolias of the Susquehanna, and the great 
trees that skirt the Orinoco and the Amazon. The giant rhodo- 
dendrons of the Himmalayas contributed to it, the roses and 
myrtles of Cashmere, the cinnamon-trees of Ceylon, and forests 
older than the flood buried deep in the heart of Africa, far behind 
the Mountains of the Moon. The rain which we see descending 
was thawed for us out of icebergs which have watched the pole- 
star for ages ; and lotus lilies sucked up from the Nile and exhaled 
as vapor the snows that are lying on the tops of our hills. 

7. The earth is our mother, and bears us in her arms ; but the 
air is our foster-mother, and nurses each one. Men of all kin- 
dreds, and peoples, and nations, four-footed beasts and creeping 
things, fowls of the air, and whales of the sea, old trees of the 
forest, mosses wreathed upon boughs, and lichens crumbling on 
stones, drink at the same perennial fount of life which flows freely 
for all. Nursed at the same breast, we are of one family — 
plants, animals, and men ; and God's " tender mercies are over 
us all." Must we strive, by rule of logic and absolute demonstra- 
tion, to shut up each reader into a corner, and compel him to 
acknowledge that the atmosphere was not self-created, but was 
made by Him " who stretcheth out the heavens as a curtain, and 
spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in " ? Is there any one 
who can resist exclaiming, " O Lord ! how manifold are thy 
works, in wisdom hast thou made them all " ? 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 369 

French Army as it appeared before and after the Battle of 
Buzaco. — Recollections of the Peninsula. 

1. On the twenty-sixth we again moved, and, fording the Mon- 
dego, climbed the lofty Sierra de Buzaco, and found ourselves on 
the right of Wellington's army, and in order of battle. Our posi- 
tion extended nearly eight miles along this mountainous and rocky 
ridge, and the ground on which we formed, inclining with a slope 
to our own rear, most admirably concealed both the disposition 
and the numbers of our force. My regiment had no sooner piled 
arms, than I walked to the verge of the mountain on which we 
lay, in the hope that I might discover something of the enemy. 
Little, however, was I prepared for the magnificent scene which 
burst on my astonished sight. 

2. Far as the eye could stretch, the glittering of steel, and 
clouds of dust raised by cavalry and artillery, proclaimed the 
march of a countless army ; while, immediately below me, at the 
feet of those precipitous heights on which I stood, their pickets 
were already posted ; thousands of them were already halted in 
their bivouacs, and column too after column, arriving in quick 
succession, reposed upon the ground allotted to them, and swelled 
the black and enormous masses. The numbers of the enemy 
were, at the lowest calculation, seventy-five thousand, and their 
host formed in three distinct and heavy columns ; while to the 
rear of their left, at a more considerable distance, you might see 
a large encampment of their cavalry, and the whole country 
behind them seemed covered with their train, their ambulance, 
and their commissariat. 

3. This, then, was a French army ; here lay before me the 
men who had once, for nearly two years, kept the whole coast of 
England in alarm ; who had conquered Italy, overrun Austria, 
shouted victory on the plains of Austerlitz, and humbled, in one 
day, the power, the pride, and the martial renown of Prussia, on 
the field of Jena. To-morrow, methought, I may, for the first 
time, hear the din of battle, behold the work of slaughter, share 
the honors of a hard-fought field, or be numbered with the slain. 



370 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

I returned slowly to the line ; and, after an evening passed in 
very interesting and animated conversation, though we had neither 
baggage nor fires, we lay down, rolled in our cloaks, and with 
the stony surface of the mountain for our bed, and the sky for our 
canopy, slept or thought away the night. 

4. Two hours before break of day, the line was under arms ; 
but the two hours glided by rapidly and silently. At last, just as 
the day dawned, a few distant shots were heard on our left, and 
were soon followed by the discharge of cannon, and the quick, 
heavy, and continued roll of musketry. We received orders to 
move, and support the troops attacked ; the whole of Hill's corps, 
amounting to fourteen thousand men, was thrown into open 
column, and moved to its left in steady double quick, and in the 
highest order. 

5. I cast my eye back to see if I could discover the rear of 
our divisions ; eleven thousand men were following ; ail in sight, 
all in open column, all rapidjy advancing in double quick time. 
No one but a soldier can picture to himself such a sight ; and it 
is, even for him, a rare and a grand one. It certainly must have 
had a very strong effect on such of the enemy as, from the sum- 
mit of the ridge, which they had most intrepidly ascended, beheld 
it, and who, ignorant of Hill's presence, thought they had been 
attacking the extreme of the British right. We were halted 
exactly in rear of that spot, from which the seventy-fourth regi- 
ment, having just repulsed a column, was retiring in. line, with 
the most beautiful regularity, its colors all torn with shot. Here 
a few shells flew harmlessly over our line, but we had not the 
honor of being engaged. The first wounded man I ever beheld 
in the field was carried past me at this moment ; he was a fine 
young Englishman, in the Portuguese service, and lay helplessly 
in a blanket, with both his legs shattered by cannon shot. He 
looked pale, and big drops of perspiration stood on his manly fore- 
head ; but he spoke not — his agony appeared unutterable. I 
secretly wished him death — a mercy, I believe, that was not very 
long withheld. 

6. About this time, Lord Wellington, with a numerous staff, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 371 

galloped up, and delivered his orders to General Hill, immedi- 
ately in front of our corps ; I therefore distinctly overheard him. 
" If they attempt this point again, Hill, you will give them a vol- 
ley, and charge bayonets ; but don't let your people follow them 
too far down the hill.'" I was particularly struck with the style 
of this order, so decided, so manly, and breathing no doubt as to 
the repulse of any attack ; it confirmed confidence. Lord Wel- 
lington's orders, on the field, are all short, quick, clear, and to 
the purpose. 

7. The French, however, never moved us throughout the day ; 
their two desperate assaults had been successfully repelled, and 
their loss, as compared to ours, exceedingly severe. From the 
ridge, in front of our present ground, we could see them far better 
than the evening before ; arms, appointments, uniforms, were all 
distinguishable. They occupied themselves in removing their 
wounded from the foot of our position ; but as none of their troops 
broke up, it was generally concluded that they would renew their 
attacks on the morrow. In the course of the day, our men went 
down to a small brook, which flowed between the opposing armies, 
for water; and French and English soldiers might be seen drink- 
ing out of the same narrow stream, and even leaning over to 
shake hands with each other. One private, of my own regiment, 
actually exchanged forage caps with a soldier of the enemy, as a 
token of regard and good will. Such courtesies, if they do not 
disguise, at least soften the horrid features of war. 

8. The view of the enemy's camp by night, far exceeded, in 
grandeur, its imposing aspect by day. Innumerable and brilliant 
fires illuminated all the country spread below us ; while they yet 
flamed brightly, the shadowy figures of men and horses, and the 
glittering piles of arms, were all visible. Here and there, indeed, 
the view was interrupted by a few dark patches of black fir, 
which, by a gloomy contrast, heightened the effect of the picture ; 
but, long after the flames expired, the red embers still emitted the 
most rich and glowing rays, and seemed, like stars, to gem the 
dark bosom of the earth, conveying the sublime ideas of a firma- 
ment spread beneath our feet. 



372 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Character of Howard. — J. Foster. 

1. In this distinction [decision] no man ever exceeded, for 
instance, or ever will exceed, the late illustrious Howard. The 
energy of his determination was so great, that if, instead of being 
habitual, it had been shown only for a short time on particular 
occasions, it would have appeared a vehement impetuosity ; but 
by being unintermitted, it had an equability of manner which 
scarcely appeared to exceed the tone of a calm constancy, it was 
so totally the reverse of any thing like turbulence or agitation. 
It was the calmness of an intensity, kept uniform by the nature 
of the human mind forbidding it to be more, and by the character 
of the individual forbidding it to be less. 

2. The habitual passion of his mind was a measure of feeling 
almost equal to the temporary extremes and paroxysms of com- 
mon minds ; as a great river in its customary state is equal to a 
small or moderate one when swollen to a torrent. The moment 
of finishing his plans in deliberation, and commencing them in 
action, was the same. I wonder what must have been the amount 
of that bribe, in emolument or pleasure, that would have detained 
him a week inactive after their final adjustment. The law which 
carries water down a declivity was not more unconquerable and 
invariable than the determination of his feelings towards the main 
object. 

3. The importance of this object held his faculties in a state of 
excitement which was too rigid to be affected by lighter interests, 
and on which, therefore, the beauties of nature and of art had no 
power. He had no leisure feeling which he could spare, to be 
diverted among the innumerable varieties of the extensive scene 
which he traversed ; all his subordinate feelings lost their separate 
existence and operation, by falling into the grand one. There 
have not been wanting trivial minds to mark this as a fault in his 
character. But the mere men of taste ought to be silent respect- 
ing such a man as Howard ; he is above their sphere of judgment. 

4. The invisible spirits who fulfil their commission of philan- 
thropy among mortals do not care about pictures, statues, and 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 



373 



sumptuous buildings ; and no more did he, when the time in 
which he must have inspected and admired them would have been 
taken from the work to which he had consecrated his life.* The 
curiosity which he might feel was reduced to wait till the hour 
should arrive when its gratification should be presented by con- 
science, which kept a scrupulous charge of all his time, as the 
most sacred duty of that hour. If he was still at every hour, 
when it came, fated to feel the attractions of the fine arts but the 
second claim, they might be sure of their revenge ; for no other 
man will ever visit Rome under such a despotic consciousness of 
duty as to refuse himself time for surveying the magnificence of its 
ruins. Such a sin against taste is very far beyond the reach of 
common saintship to commit. It implied an inconceivable sever- 
ity of conviction that he had one thing to do ; and that he who 
would do some great thing in this short life must apply himself to 
the work with such a concentration of his forces, as, to idle spec- 
tators, who live only to amuse themselves, looks like insanity. 

5. His attention was so strongly and tenaciously fixed on his 
object, that, even at the greatest distance, as the Egyptian Pyra- 
mids to travellers, it appeared to him with a luminous distinctness, 
as if it were nigh, and beguiled the toilsome length of labor and 
enterprise by which he was to reach it. It was so conspicuous 
before him, that not a step deviated from the direction, and every 
movement and every day was an approximation. As his method 
referred every thing he did and thought to the end, and as his 
exertion did not relax for a moment, he made the trial, so seldom 
made — what is the utmost effect which may be granted to the last 
possible efforts of a human agent ; and, therefore, what he did not 
accomplish, he might conclude to be placed beyond the sphere of 
mortal activity, and calmly leave to the immediate disposal of 
Providence. 



* Mr. Howard, however, was not destitute of taste for the fine arts. 
His house at Cardington was better filled with paintings and drawings 
than any other, on a small scale, that we ever saw. — R. Hall. 
32 



374 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Obstacles to the Introduction of Christianity. — N. A. Review. 

1. Obstacles which opposed the introduction of Christianity- 
were formidable beyond what can now easily be imagined. They 
existed in the customs, opinions, prejudices, and perverseness of 
the Jews, to whom it was first preached, and in the spiritual dark- 
ness and moral degradation of the Gentiles. The Jews had early 
received the books of Moses as of divine authority, and the writ- 
ings of the Prophets were considered no less the word of God. It 
is certain that the descendants of Abraham separated themselves 
at a very early period from the rest of the world, were governed 
by laws essentially different from other nations, and became dis- 
tinguished by modes of life, and habits of thinking, feeling, and 
acting, peculiar to themselves. 

2. The demonstrations, which they had perpetually before 
them, of being under the special guidance of the Supreme Being, 
quickened their pride, caused them to magnify their privileges, 
and to fancy themselves superior to other nations. From nu- 
merous intimations in their prophetical writings, they had long 
expected the coming of the Messiah. In him they were looking for 
a prince, a judge, a redeemer, a deliverer ; but it was from their 
political troubles, and their distresses as a nation, from which they 
fondly imagined he would deliver them. When Christ appeared, 
they had become a degraded province, and were suffering under 
the cruel tyranny of the Romans. 

3. Such was the political condition of the Jews, such thei" 
national prejudices, and such their expectations in regard to the 
character of the Messiah, and the objects of his mission. These 
were powerful obstacles to the introduction of a religion like that 
of Jesus Christ. How would the people believe him to be their 
long-expected Messiah, whose character and conduct were so 
opposite to all their anticipations ? ' Instead of coming in the 
splendor and power of a prince, he appeared an humble peasant 
of Galilee, a province proverbial for its poverty and insignifi- 
cance, and from which it had long been the belief that no good 
thing could come. He did nothing to promote their political 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 375 

aggrandizement ; he placed before them no prospects of military 
glory and conquest ; and instead of offering to rescue them from 
bondage, he chided them for their rebellious spirit, and com- 
manded them to submit to their condition. 

4. And further, the religious impressions of the Jews presented 
another obstacle. They believed their religion to come immedi- 
ately from God. With them, civil and religious laws were the 
same. Their national concerns, their religious ceremonies, and 
the occupations of private life, were regulated by the same rules. 
The religion of the Jews mingled with all their intercourse, and 
gave a tone to their thoughts, their habits, their manners. In this 
consisted the whole compass of their education. It was an entire 
system of law and morality, of faith and piety. No Jew had any 
conception that it could be improved or altered. It was the glory 
of his nation, the foundation of its present existence, and the hope 
of its future greatness and prosperity. With these impressions, 
nothing could be more remote from the minds and feelings of 
the Jews, than that any change was either necessary or possible 
in their religion. 

5. But these are a part only of the obstacles with which the 
Christian religion had to contend. It was also to be preached 
to the Gentiles. And what was there in its character to recom- 
mend it to them ? Or, rather, what was there which was not at 
war with all their prejudices, prepossessions, and religious cere- 
monies ? In the first place, the Jewish nation itself had become 
a by-word to the rest of the world. Their customs, and the exclu- 
sive nature of their laws, had raised barriers between them and 
every other nation. The contempt with which they affected to 
regard their neighbors was returned in full measure. 

6. Next, the character which Christ sustained while on earth 
was not one which would command the respect of the Gentiles, 
any more than the Jews. How could they believe the divine 
nature and authority of his doctrines, when they had no knowl- 
edge of the God of Israel, by whose power he acted, and by 
whose spirit he was enlightened ? Confirmed in a mythology and 
worship of their own, which were rendered sacred by the most 



376 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

cherished associations, and all that was dear to them in the mem- 
ory of their ancestors, how could they believe that a Jew of Naz- 
areth had been sent from heaven to proclaim a system of divine 
truths, that should overthrow and root up the system which they 
regarded with so much veneration, and that should work an entire 
revolution in the morals, manners, and religion of the world ? 

7. Again, the manner in which Christ died was calculated to 
excite abhorrence in the minds both of the Jews and the heathens, 
or Gentiles. The death of the cross was one to which only the 
worst of criminals were condemned. No doctrine could have 
been proposed to the people at which they would so suddenly 
revolt, and which they would so immediately reject, as the doc- 
trine of the cross. And yet this doctrine was a prominent feature 
in the preaching of the apostles. No doctrine could be more 
unpopular, or do greater violence to the prejudices of all parties, 
— the high and low, the wise and ignorant ; yet the apostles perse- 
vered in preaching it ; they resorted to no schemes of com- 
promise ; they maintained a stern integrity, and firm adherence 
to truth, without yielding to the vices, the follies, or the weak- 
nesses of men. They preached the gospel as it had been deliv- 
ered to them by their divine Master, leaving it to find its own way 
into the heart and the understanding, without attempting to remove 
or diminish the vast obstacles, which stood like the mountains of 
ages to oppose its progress. 

8. It may be added, also, that the moral character and the 
purifying spirit of the Christian religion, its precepts and com- 
mands, were totally at variance with the morals and manners of 
the whole world at that period ; so that the religion of Jesus had 
not only to contend with the prejudices, the firmly-rooted opin- 
ions, and the hereditary customs of all nations, but also their 
passions, their vices, their inclinations, their worldly propensities, 
and worldly affections. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 377 

Christian Martyrs. — Saukin. 

1. Speak, ye martyrs of Jesus Christ, tell us what influence the 
infinite God has over the soul. Be ye our divines and philoso- 
phers. What did ye feel, when, penetrating through a shower of 
stones, ye cried, " Behold, we see the heavens opened, and the Son 
of man standing on the right hand of God " ? What did ye feel, 
when, experiencing all the rage of a cruel Nero, ye exulted, — 
" We rejoice in hope of the glory of God " ? But this is not the 
whole of the believer's joy. The expectation of arriving at great 
happiness by means of tribulation, may naturally produce a patient 
submission to tribulations. But here is something more. " We 
rejoice," says St. Paul, " in hope of the glory of God. And not 
only so," adds he, (weigh this expressive sentence, my brethren,) 
" not only so ; " it is not only " the hope of the glory of God " 
that supports and comforts us ; " not only so ; but we glory in 
tribulations also, knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and 
patience experience, and experience hope ; and hope maketh not 
ashamed, because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts 
by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto us." 

2. What did ye feel, when your executioners, not being able to 
obtain your voluntary adoration of their idols, endeavored to obtain 
it by force ; when, refusing to offer that incense which they had 
put into your hands, ye sang, " Blessed be the Lord, who 
teacheth our hands to war and our fingers to fight " ? What 
did ye feel, when, wrapping your heads in the few rags that 
persecution had left you, ye refused to look at the worship of 
idols, and patiently submitted to be bruised with bastinadoes, con- 
demned to the galleys, and chained to the oars ? What did ye 
feel, when, in that painful situation, ye employed the remainder of 
your strength to look upward, and to adore the God of heaven 
and earth ? 

3. It is God who supports his creature amidst all these torments, 
and he alone can infinitely diversify and extend his sensibility. 
None but he can excite in the soul those ineffable pleasures of 
which we have no ideas, and which we can express by no names, 

32* 



378 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

but which will be the objects of our eternal praises, if they be the 
objects of our present faith and hope. It is God, and only God, 
who can communicate happiness in this manner. None of this 
power is in the hand of man. " Who art thou," spiritual creature, 
"to be afraid of a man ? " 

Cure of Melancholy. — Wilcox. 

1. Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? 
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ? 
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief ? 
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold : 
'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold 
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there 

Its life and beauty ; not when, all unrolled, 
Leaf after leaf, its bosom rich and fair 
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air. 

2. Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, 
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night 
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours 

To take their swift and everlasting flight ; 
Wake ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, 
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed ; 
Do something — do it soon — with all thy might ; 
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, 
And God himself inactive were no longer blessed. 

3. Some high or humble enterprise of good 
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind, 
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, 
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined ; 

Pray Heaven with firmness thy whole soul to bind 

To this thy purpose — to begin, pursue, 

With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 379 

Strength to complete, and with delight review, 
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. 

4. No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit 
To light on man as from the passing air ; 
The lamp of genius, though by nature lit, 

If not protected, pruned, and fed with care, 
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare ; 
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers 
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare, 
That 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers 
Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers. 

5. Has immortality of name been given 

To them that idly worship hills and groves, 
And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven ! 
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves, 
To measure worlds, and follow where each moves ? 
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, 
By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves ? 
Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, 
By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ? 

6. Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear 
But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim 

Thy want of worth ; a charge thou couldst not hear 
From other lips, without a blush of shame, 
Or pride indignant ; then be thine the blame, 
And make thyself of worth ; and thus enlist 
The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame ; 
'Tis infamy to die and not be missed, 
Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist. 

7. Rouse to some work of high and holy love, 
And thou an angel's happiness shalt know, — 



380 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ; 
The good begun by thee shall onward flow 
In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; 
The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, 
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, 
Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, 
And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers. 

Sunset in September. — Wilcox. 

The sun now rests upon the mountain tops — 
Begins to sink behind — is half concealed — 
And now is gone : the last faint, twinkling beam 
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge. 
Sweet to the pensive is departing day, 
When only one small cloud, so still and thin, 
So thoroughly imbued with amber light, 
And so transparent, that it seems a spot 
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount, 
Hangs o'er the hidden orb ; or where a few 
Long, narrow stripes of denser, darker grain, 
At each end sharpened to a needle's point, 
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth, 
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream, 
A half hour's space above the mountain lie ; 
Or when the whole consolidated mass, 
That only threatened rain, is broken up 
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one, 
One as the ocean broken into waves , 
And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep 
The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed 
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark, 
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote, 
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun, 
Till twilight end. But now another scene, 
To me most beautiful of all, appears : 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 381 

The sky, without the shadow of a cloud, 
Throughout the west is kindled to a glow 
So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye, 
Not dazzling, but dilating with calm force 
Its power of vision to admit the whole. 
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye ; 
Midway, the blushing of the mellow peach 
Paints not, but tinges the ethereal deep ; 
And here, in this most lovely region, shines, 
With added loveliness, the evening star. 
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades, 
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven. 

Along the level ridge, o'er which the sun 
Descended, in a single row arranged, 
As if thus planted by the hand of art, 
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky, 
And in its fluid gold seem half-dissolved. 
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands 
With shafts erect, and tops converged to one, 
A stately colonnade, with verdant roof; 
Upon a nearer still, a single tree, 
With shapely form, looks beautiful alone ; 
While, farther northward, through a narrow pass 
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount 
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems, 
And of a softer, more ethereal blue, 
A pyramid of polished sapphire built. 

But now the twilight mingles into one 
The various mountains ; levels to a plain 
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade, 
Where every object to my sight presents 
Its shaded side ; while here upon these walls, 
And in that eastern wood, upon the trunks 
Under thick foliage, reflective shows 
Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line 
Of the horizon, parting heaven and earth ! 



382 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Misery of an Ignorant Old Age. — Felltham. 

1. As old age is not only a collection of diseases, but even a 
disease of itself, and, by the decree which Providence hath passed 
upon man, incurable save by death, the best thing next to a 
remedy is, a diversion or an abatement of the malady. The cold 
Corelian cannot change his clime ; yet, by firs and fires, he 
can preserve himself in a boisterous winter. The drum and fife 
can sometimes drown the battle's noise, when there is no way to 
escape it. And what thing is there within the fathom of man's 
industry that can so well support him under the decays and 
infirmities of age, as knowledge, study, and meditation ? With 
this, a man can feast at home alone, and in his closet put himself 
into whatever company shall best please him — with youth's 
vigor, age's gravity, beauty's pleasantness, with peace or war, as 
best he likes. 

2. Virtuous study will relieve the tediousness of decrepit age, 
and the divine raptures of contemplation will beguile the weari- 
ness of the pillow and the chair. It makes him not unpleasing to 
the young, revered by the aged and beloved by all. 

3. A gray head with a wise mind, enriched by learning, is a 
treasury of grave precept, experience, and wisdom. It is an oracle 
to which the lesser wise resort to know their fate. He that can 
read and meditate, need not think the evening long, or life irk- 
some ; it is, at all times, a fit employment and a particular solace 
to him who is bowed down with years. Without this, an old man 
is but the lame shadow of what he once was. They honor him too 
far that say that he is twice a child. There is something in chil- 
dren that carries a becoming prettiness with it, which is pleasing 
and of grateful relish. But ignorant old age is the worst picture 
that time can draw of man. It is a barren vine in autumn ; a 
leaky vessel, ready to fall to pieces at every remove ; a map of 
mental and corporeal weakness ; not pleasing to others, and a 
burden to himself. His ignorance and imbecility condemn him 
to idleness, which, to the active soul, is more irksome than any 
employment. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 383 

4. ftYhat can such a one do, when strength of limb shall fail, 
and the love of those pleasures which helped him to misspend his 
youth, shall, through time and languid age, become dull and 
blunted ? Abroad he cannot stir to amuse himself with what 
passes in the world ; nor will others be fond of coming to him, 
when they shall find nothing but a man composed of diseases and 
complaints, who, for want of knowledge, hath not discourse to 
keep reason company. Like the cuckoo, he may be left to his 
own moulting in some hollow cell ; but since the voice of his 
spring is gone, (which yet was all the note he had to take us 
with,) he is no longer listened to, and in his melancholy hole 
he lazeth his life away. 

5. If study were valuable for nothing else, yet it would be 
highly so for this — that it makes a man his own companion, with- 
out either the charge or the cumber of company. He is neither 
obliged to humor nor to flatter. He may hear his author speak 
as far as he likes, and leave him when he does not please him, 
nor will he be angry though he be not of his opinion. It is also 
the guide of youth, to manhood a companion, and to old age a 
cordial and an antidote. If I die to-morrow, my life to-day will 
be somewhat the sweeter for knowledge. The answer was good 
which Antisthenes gave, when he was asked what fruit he had 
reaped of all his studies. % By them," said he, " I have learned 
both to live and discourse with myself." 

Consequences of abolishing the Sabbath. — J. S. Stone. 

1. Yes, — abolish the Sabbath, and you obliterate from the 
soul that crowd of delightful, holy, and sanctifying associations, 
which now cluster around the peaceful day, and throw into its 
evening meditations, and on the memory of its scenes, the godly 
man's fairest type and brightest anticipations of his rest in 
heaven. Abolish the Sabbath, and the ordinances of grace close 
their channels and cease to bless ; the sound of social and public 
prayer is hushed ; and the authoritative publication of God's 
word sends no ray of light, no arrow of truth, into the darkened 
sinner's heart. 



384 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

2. Abolish the Sabbath, and the blooming promises of the Sab- 
bath school are blasted, the minds of its myriads of young immor- 
tals revert again to untaught, unblessed ignorance and sin : asy- 
lums and hospitals, those offsprings of Christianity, fall into ruins ; 
and the blind, and deaf, and dumb, the diseased, and lame, and 
lunatic, wander the earth once more, with scarce a gift from 
charity ; while institutions for the spread of the gospel through 
tracts, and Bibles, and missionaries of the cross, perish, with the 
zeal that now supports them, from the church of Christ ; and the 
dark clouds of error, superstition, and blood, which we now see 
rolling away from heathen lands, settle back again to drench 
those lands in misery. 

3. Abolish the Sabbath, and — how shall I finish the picture ? 
Man forgets or denies his God ; the Bible is burned amidst the 
orgies of blasphemy ; religion is banished from earth to heaven ; 
and human society either reverts to the barbarism of idolatry, in 
which the soul, rendered almost irrational, offers its prayers and 
praises, bows down in blind adoration, and presents its sacrifices, 
and human victims, and spoils of chastity, to molten images, and 
reptiles, and devils ; or falls back upon that state of civil anarchy 
and confusion, in which, though the light of science and philoso- 
phy may shine, yet the light of heavenly truth is extinguished, 
and the wild passions of men let loose, while crime and bloodshed 
and war shake thrones and kingdoms, and confound the elements 
of society in one wide waste of moral chaos ! 

4. All this is not bare conjecture. The world has already 
looked with the eye of sober experience on a great part of the 
scene, as connected with a temporary abolition of the Sabbath 
near the beginning of the French revolution, yet fresh in the 
memory of living multitudes. That abolition was not, indeed, the 
single cause of all the atrocities which followed. But the Sab- 
bath was one of the great barriers which stood in the way of 
their furious outbursting ; and it must needs be swept down before 
the floods of irreligion, impiety, and civilized butchery could rush, 
unopposed, through the land. And if its abolition had become 
both universal and perpetual, nothing could have saved the human 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 385 

race from all that has been described, but as plain a miracle as 
that in which " the sun stood still upon Gibeon, and the moon in 
the Valley of Ajalon ! " 

5. The Sabbath, in the sanctions of its divine authority, and in 
the influence of its stated sanctification, is one of the main props 
that uphold the existence of the true religion, and of a knowledge 
of the true God ; that sustain a good public moral conscience, 
and that support the broad and lofty fabric of human society and 
of civil government. To the church of Christ the Sabbath is an 
Ararat amidst a deluge of sin. So long as it stands unmoved, the 
ark of the Christian's hope rests in safety on its top, bearing high 
the families of the faithful above the wasting flood, and preserv- 
ing them for a renovated world in eternity. And to the whole 
race of man it is a Bethel on the plains of Canaan. It opens to 
them not only " the house of God," but also the gate of heaven. 
Annihilate the Sabbath, and that gate is shut. The influences of 
God, like angels of mercy, no longer ascend and descend to com- 
fort and to bless his creatures. 

6. Would God, then, that this subject could be impressed, in 
all its solemnity and power, on the hearts of all orders of men — 
upon rulers and subjects, upon high and low, upon rich and poor. 
The result would be peace, prosperity, and permanency to all the 
institutions of our country, civil and religious. A day bright with 
hope would dawn on the world. And the example of statesmen, 
of philosophers, and of humbler Christians, would make the Sab- 
bath what it was designed to be, and from "its blessed influences 
draw down millennial rest and glory upon man ! 

Thanksgiving. — J. Hamilton. 

1. Adoration is devout meditation on what Jehovah is, — the 
praise of the divine perfections. Thanksgiving is delighted medi- 
tation on what the Lord has done for us or others, — praise for his 
mercies. Such praise is " comely." Just as there is meanness 
in constant murmuring, so there is a gracefulness and majesty in 
habitual gratitude. And it is " pleasant." It is not the full purse 
33 



386 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

or the easy calling, but the full heart, the praising disposition, 
which makes the blessed life ; and of all personal gifts, that man 
lias got the best who has received the quick-discerning eye, the 
promptly-joyful soul, the ever-praising spirit. 

2. And, my dear friends, in searching for the materials of 
gratitude, you have not far to go. If you have a lawful pursuit, — 
a business to which, with a clear conscience, you can devote your 
energy, — and a possession which raises you above the woes of 
penury ; if you have contentment within, and affection around, 
you are a wealthy and a favored man. Your daily lot may well 
be your daily wonder ; and when other texts are exhausted, you 
may find a theme for thanksgiving in your very home — an ho- 
sanna in the blazing hearth, and & jubilate in each joyful voice 
and merry sound that echoes through your dwelling. 

3. But there are signal mercies, memorable interpositions, and 
marvellous deliverances, which should be signalized by memora- 
ble thanksgivings. Remarkable interpositions are rare, but that 
life is rarer in which there has been no remarkable rescue — no 
signal interposition of Providence. Just see. Is there any one 
here present whose life has moved so smoothly that no accident 
ever endangered it, and that he cannot quote the time when there 
was but a hair-breadth betwixt him and death ? The boat was 
upset, but you were saved. You intended going by the vessel 
that foundered at sea, but were unaccountably hindered. You 
passed along, and three seconds afterwards the tottering wall 
crashed down. You still preserve the hat that was grazed by the 
bullet, or the book that received the shot instead of yourself. And 
how did you feel at the time ? 

4. When you fell from the precipice, or were thrown headlong 
from your startled steed, and rose uninjured, did all your bones say, 
" Who is like unto thee, O Lord " ? When you just escaped the 
fatal missile, was gratitude to your gracious Preserver your first 
emotion ? or did you merely thank your stars and congratulate 
yourself on your singular luck ? And when the active arm saved 
you from drowning, or from being crushed to death in the cross- 
ing, when deposited on the place of safety, you were pale, or you 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 387 

laughed wildly, or you clung to the arm of your deliverer, for the 
danger was dreadful ; but have you since praised the Lord for his 
goodness, and for his wonderful work in saving you then ? And 
do you adoringly remember it still ? " Whoso is wise, and will 
observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kind- 
ness of the Lord." 



Ministerial Example. — G. Spring. 

1. Not a few of the moral defects of ministers depend upon 
their natural temperament. Those who have the fewest imper- 
fections are not always the best men ; and for the obvious reason 
that they may have the fewest excellences. They may not be 
capable, from their natural temperament, of possessing strong and 
striking excellences ; and on this account their imperfections may 
be comparatively few.. It may be difficult to detect them in an 
imprudent or an idle word, because their disposition is naturally 
retiring and taciturn, and they rarely speak at all, except in the 
pulpit. You may not be able to reproach them with rash or 
imprudent conduct, because they are men of shrinking diffidence, 
and, instead of throwing themselves amid scenes of exciting inter- 
est, they leave such scenes to men of a different spirit. 

2. Well do I remember a minister in this community, now 
gathered to his fathers, who, if judged by his imperfections, would 
meet a severe verdict ; but who, when estimated by his excel- 
lences, has scarcely left his equal behind him. I loved and hon- 
ored him, because, whoever else was backward, he was always 
ready with his hand, his heart, his time, and his money, for every 
good word and work. There may be quite as much of the power 
of godliness in the more animated as in the more tame ; while 
there may be, and ordinarily are, more visible imperfections in 
the former than in the latter. Men there have been who have 
deeply mourned over these constitutional exposures ; while it is 
quite obvious they would not have possessed the manly and vigor- 
ous piety for which they were distinguished, nor have achieved 
that which they were raised up to achieve, without them. 



38S MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

3. There were natural traits in the character of the apostle 
Peter which rendered him rash and presumptuous, and which led 
to his fall ; yet, had he been more phlegmatic and cold, while he 
would have avoided the infamy of denying his Master, he never 
would have so proved himself his self-denying and enthusiastic 
disciple. Imperfections there were in the character of Martin 
Luther ; and they were imperfections which a certain class of 
men in our own day would have severely rebuked ; nay, some 
modern churches would have called him to account for them. 
But without the natural temperament to which they are obviously 
to be attributed, he never would have been the distinguished 
reformer. We forget his errors when we read his commentary 
on the Epistle to the Galatians, and see him before the diet at 
the city of Worms. He might have been as mild and circumspect 
as Melancthon, and Protestantism might have been strangled in 
its cradle. 

4. We are no believers in an unsocial Christianity ; nor do we 
desire to see its ministers unsocial and cheerless. This might be 
in keeping with the dark ages of Rome, but it has no alliance with 
the cheered spirit of the gospel. Cheerlessness is not piety ; 
gloom and depression are not piety. Some of the best, and most 
devoted, and most successful ministers I have ever known, have 
been distinguished for their attractive cheerfulness. 

5. There are not wanting those who impugn the character of 
the Christian ministry, because they do not carry the solemnity 
of the pulpit into all the scenes of social life. Many, indeed, are 
the scenes of social life where the solemnity of the pulpit is called 
for ; nor in any of them are the dignity and proprieties of the 
ministerial character unfitting. But as well might secular time 
be transformed into the Sabbath, and the busy scenes of the world 
into the formal services of the sanctuary, as the emotions of the 
pulpit pervade the uniform intercourse of a minister either with 
the people of God or the men of the world. Levity and world- 
liness are sufficiently out of place in him who is an ambassador 
of God to guilty men ; but affected solemnity is even worse. 

6. Ministers there are who are so solemn that you never see a 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 389 

smile, or a pleasant expression, upon their countenances ; they are 
absolutely fearful. There is no piety in this. Were an angel 
from heaven to dwell with men, his spirit and example woul s ^e 
a perpetual rebuke to such ministers. Christianity, though of 
divine origin, is not the religion of angels ; it is ingrafted on the 
human nature. Angels would delight to be its preachers ; but the 
treasure is committed to men ; the whole arrangement is adapted 
to what is human ; and while its great object is to purify and ele- 
vate, it is no part of its design to terrify. It is not a sort of per- 
sonified apathy, nor is it some ghostly messenger, that lives only 
among the tombs ; it moves among men as the messenger of 
Heaven's tenderest mercy ; and though, wherever it goes, it re- 
bukes iniquity, its footsteps are radiant with light and love. It mul- 
tiplies the joys of men, and only admonishes them that they may 
not be sinful joys. 

The Same, continued. 

1. We shall with difficulty be persuaded that we have given 
too much importance to these thoughts on the subject of minis- 
terial example. It is in vain to talk about piety where there is not 
sterling value, and an example that is worthy of the gospel we 
preach. I would allow a minister every indulgence that is not 
sinful, and that is not hurtful to the souls of men. I would be 
bound by the code of a high morality, and hold myself respon- 
sible, for every breach of it ; but I would not be bound by the 
caprices of men. We should be watchful, even in things that are 
lawful, not to throw a stumbling-block in the way of others. " All 
things are lawful for me," says Paul, " but all things are not 
expedient." He would not eat the flesh, nor drink the wine, 
offered in oblation on heathen altars, no, not " while the world 
standeth," if " it caused his brother to offend." 

2. There is no part of a minister's example that may be deemed 
unimportant, which seriously affects the interests of religion in the 
world. We may think little of these things abstractly ; but they 
are of great moment in their bearing upon the cause of God. 
Men may be fatally led astray by the wrong impressions they 

33* 



390 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

receive from the heedless and untender walk of Christian minis- 
ters. We may sometimes complain of restricted influence, when 
the fault is our own. If all the disciples of Christ ought to be 
" living epistles, known and read of all men," much more his 
ministers. We depreciate this method of teaching. Men are not 
to be instructed by records and proofs merely ; they reject the 
divine testimony even when it is spread before their minds. But 
there is one species of evidence which they find it hard to resist ; 
it is the consistent example of its ministers. There is no preach- 
ing like a holy life. It is a death-blow to the church of Rome, 
that so many of its ministers are ungodly and wicked men. No 
church can prosper without an exemplary ministry. Mitred heads 
and apostolical succession are little matters compared with "the 
things that are of good report." 

3. We are humbled in view of some of the thoughts we have 
suggested, and therefore dwell on them, perhaps, to the weariness 
of our readers. It is not enough for ministers to be men of piety ; 
it must be a piety that lives, and acts itself out. Preaching is not 
piety. Men will not give the pulpit credit for a religion which it 
does not exemplify ; nor ought they to do so. It is not the 
eloquence of the pulpit alone that they look for. It is the silent 
eloquence of a heavenly example. The short epitaph inscribed 
by Nazianzen on the tomb of Basil, was, " His words were 
thunder, his life lightning." 

4. Where the life of a minister is conformed to the law of 
God, and illustrates the power of his gospel ; where the truth 
of Christ shines out in the walk and conversation ; where the 
whole testimony which a minister bears is in favor of the gospel 
he preaches, and no part of it is arrayed against another part, but 
all bears the same witness, — it is not easily denied. The pulpit 
needs no more efficiency than that which, under the favor of its 
great Author, it possesses the means of exerting. Let it faithfully 
apply itself to these, and it lives only to bless the world. Its light 
is destined to shine not more in acts of splendid brilliancy, than 
in that steady, uniform brightness, which is lighted at the altar 
which is within the veil. 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 391 

Hymn to Death. — W. Herbert. 

What art thou, O relentless visitant, 
Who, with an earlier or later call, 
Dost summon every spirit that abides 
In this our fleshly tabernacle ? Death ! 
The end of worldly sorrowing and joy, 
That breakest short the fantasies of youth, 
The proud man's glory, and the lingering chain 
Of hopeless destitution ! the dark gate 
And entrance into that untrodden realm, 
Where we must all hereafter pass ! Art thou 
An evil, or a boon ? that some shrink back 
With shuddering horror from the dreaded range 
Of thine unmeasured empire ; others plunge 
Unbidden, goaded by the sense of ill, 
Or weariness of being, into the abyss ! 
And should we call those blest who journey on 
Upon this motley theatre, through life 
Successful, unto the allotted term 
Of threescore years and ten, even so strong, 
That they exceed it ? or those who are brought down 
Before their prime, and, like the winged tribes, 
Ephemeral, children of the vernal beam, 
Just flutter round the sweets of life and die ? — 
An awful term thou art ; and still must be, 
To all who journey to that bourn, from whence 
Return is none, and from whose distant shore 
No rumor has come back of good or ill, 
Save to the faithful ; and even they but view 
Obscurely things unknown and unconceived, 
And judge not even, by what sense the bliss, 
Which they imagine, shall hereafter be 
Enjoyed or apprehended. And shall man 
Unbidden rush on that mysterious change, 
Which, whether he believe or mock the creed 



392 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Of those who trust, awaits him, and must bring 

Or good, or evil, or annihilate 

The sense of being, and involve him quite 

In darkness upon which no dawn shall break ? — 

Fearful and dreaded must thy bidding be 

To such as have no light within, vouchsafed 

From the Most High, no reason for their hope ; 

But go from this firm world into the void 

Where no material body may reside, 

By fleshly cares polluted, and unmeet 

For spiritual joy ; and ne'er have known, 

Or, knowing, have behind them cast the love 

Of their Redeemer, who thine awful bonds, 

Grim Potentate, has broken, and made smooth 

The death-bed of the just through faith in him. 

How oft, at midnight, have I fixed my gaze 

Upon the blue, unclouded firmament, 

With thousand spheres illumined, each perchance 

The powerful centre of revolving worlds ! 

Until, by strange excitement stirred, the mind 

Has longed for dissolution, so it might bring 

Knowledge, for which the spirit is athirst, 

Open the darkling stores of hidden time, 

And show the marvel of eternal things, 

Which, in the bosom of immensity, 

Wheel round the God of nature. Vain desire ! 

Illusive aspirations ! daring hope ! 

Worm that I am, — who told me I should know 

More than is needful, or hereafter dive 

Into the counsel of the God of worlds ? 

Or ever, in the cycle unconceived 

Of wondrous eternity, arrive 

Beyond the narrow sphere, by him assigned 

To be my dwelling wheresoe'er ? Enough 

To work in trembling my salvation here, 

Waiting thy summons, stern, mysterious Power, 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 393 

Who to thy silent realm hast called away- 
All those whom nature twined around my breast 
In my fond infancy, and left me here 
Denuded of their love ! Where are ye gone ? 
And shall we wake from the long sleep of death, 
To know each other, conscious of the ties 
That linked our souls together, and draw down 
The secret dewdrop on my cheek, whene'er 
I turn unto the past ? or will the change 
That comes to all, renew the altered spirit 
To other thoughts, making the strife or love 
Of short mortality a shadow past, 
Equal illusion ? Father, whose strong mind 
Was my support, whose kindness as the spring 
Which never tarries ! mother, of all forms 
That smiled upon my budding thoughts most dear ! 
Brothers ! and thou, mine only sister ! gone 
To the still grave, making the memory 
Of all my earliest time a thing wiped out, 
Save from the glowing spot, which lives as fresh 
In my heart's core, as when we last in joy 
Were gathered round the blithe paternal board ! 
Where are ye ? Must your kindred spirit sleep 
For many a thousand years, till by the trump 
Roused to new being ? Will affections then 
Burn inwardly, or all our loves gone by 
Seem but a speck upon the roll of time, 
Unworthy our regard ? This is too hard 
For mortals to unravel, nor has He 
Vouchsafed a clew to man, who bade us trust 
To him our weakness, and we shall wake up 
After his likeness, and be satisfied. 



394 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

Heaven. — Mrs. Miles. 

The earth all light and loveliness, in summer's golden bowers, 
Smiles in her bridal vesture clad, and crowned with festal flowers, 
So radiantly beautiful, so like to heaven above, 
We scarce can deem more fair that world of perfect bliss and love. 
Is this a shadow faint and dim of that which is to come ? 
What shall the unveiled glories be of our celestial home, 
Where waves the tree of life, where streams of bliss gush free, 
And all is glowing in the light of immortality ? 

To see again the home of youth, when weary years have passed, 
Serenely bright, as when we turned and looked upon it last ; 
To hear the voice of love ; to meet the rapturous embrace ; 
To gaze through tears of gladness on each dear familiar face, — 
O, this indeed is joy, though here we meet again to part ; 
But what transporting bliss awaits the pure and faithful heart, 
When it shall meet the loved and lost, those who have gone before, 
Where every tear is wiped away, where partings come no more ! 

When on devotion's seraph wing the spirit soars above, 

And feels thy presence, Father, Friend, God of eternal love, 

Joys of the earth, ye fade away before the living ray 

Which gives to the rapt soul a glimpse of pure and perfect day ; 

A gleam of heaven's own light, though now its brightness scarce 

appears 
Through the dim shadows which are spread around this vale of tears. 
But thine unclouded smile, O God, fills that all-glorious place 
Where we shall know as we are known, and see thee face to face. 

The United States. — Bancroft. 

1. The United States of America constitute an essential portion 
of a great political system, embracing all the civilized nations of 
the earth. At a period when the force of moral opinion is rapidly 
increasing, they have the precedence in the practice and the 



MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 395 

defence of the equal rights of man. The sovereignty of the 
people is here a conceded axiom, and the laws, established upon 
that basis, are cherished with faithful patriotism. While the 
nations of Europe aspire after change, our constitution engages 
the fond admiration of the people, by which it has been established. 
Prosperity follows the execution of even justice ; invention is 
quickened by the freedom of competition ; and labor rewarded 
with sure and unexampled returns. Domestic peace is main- 
tained without the aid of a military establishment ; public senti- 
ment permits the existence of but few standing troops, and those 
only along the seaboard and on the frontiers. A gallant navy 
protects our commerce, which spreads its banners on every sea, 
and extends its enterprise to every clime. 

2. Our diplomatic relations connect us on terms of equality and 
honest friendship with the chief powers of the world, while we 
avoid entangling participation in their intrigues, their passions, and 
their wars. Our national resources are developed by an earnest 
culture of the arts of peace. Every man may enjoy the fruits 
of his industry ; every mind is free to publish its convictions. 
Our government, by its organization, is necessarily identified with 
the interests of the people, and relies exclusively on their attach- 
ment for its durability and support. Even the enemies of the 
state, if there are any among us, have liberty to express their 
opinions undisturbed, and are safely tolerated, where reason is 
left free to combat their errors. 

3. Nor is the constitution a dead letter, unalterably fixed ; it has 
the capacity for improvement; adopting whatever changes time 
and the public will may require, and safe from decay, so long as that 
will retains its energy. New states are forming in the wilderness ; 
canals, intersecting our plains and crossing our highlands, open 
numerous channels to internal commerce ; manufactures prosper 
along our watercourses ; the use of steam on our rivers and rail- 
roads annihilates distance by the acceleration of speed. Our 
wealth and population, already giving us a place in the first rank 
of nations, are so rapidly cumulative, that the former is increased 
fourfold, and the latter is doubled, in every period of twenty-two 
or twenty-three years. 



396 MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES. 

4. There is no national debt ; the community is opulent, the 
government economical, and the public treasury full. Religion, 
neither persecuted nor paid by the state, is sustained by the 
regard for public morals and the convictions of an enlightened 
faith. Intelligence is diffused with unparalleled universality ; a 
free press teems with the choicest productions of all nations and 
ages. There are more daily journals in the United States than in 
the world beside. A public document of general interest is, 
within a month, reproduced in at least a million of copies, and is 
brought within the reach of every freeman in the country. 

5. An immense concourse of emigrants, of the most various 
lineage, is perpetually crowding to our shores ; and the principles 
of liberty, uniting all interests by the operation of equal laws, 
blend the discordant elements into harmonious union. Other 
governments are convulsed by the innovations and reforms of 
neighboring states ; our constitution, fixed in the affections of the 
people, from whose choice it has sprung, neutralizes the influence 
of foreign principles, and fearlessly opens an asylum to the vir- 
tuous, the unfortunate, and the oppressed of every nation. 

6. And yet it is but little more than two centuries since the 
oldest of our states received its first permanent colony. Before 
that time, the whole territory was an unproductive waste. 
Throughout its wide extent the arts had not erected a monument. 
Its only inhabitants were a few scattered tribes of feeble bar- 
barians, destitute of commerce and of political connection. The 
axe and the ploughshare were unknown. The soil, which had 
been gathering fertility from the repose of centuries, was lavish- 
ing its strength in magnificent but useless vegetation. In the 
view of civilization the immense domain was a solitude. 



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